


PRESENTED BY 







£tL* C f-tKMC : tM , 

EDGEWORTH’S 


'«•< «se> 


HARRY AND LU CY. 


WITH AN 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS 


THE STORIES OF 


LITTLE DOG TRUSTY, THE ORANGE MAN, AND 
THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY MUNKOE &c FRANCIS. 


\ ■ , 


9 5 - ? 


Tl i 
,Ei% 
H 

3 


This series of Maria Edgeworth’s EARLY LESSONS 
consists of 


HARRY AND LUCY 1 vol. 

FRANK 1 vol. 

SEQUEL TO ERANK 2 vola 

ROSAMOND 2 vola. 

HARRY AND LUCY CONCLUDED 4 vola. 


To "be had separately, as above, — or all together, in 
5 thick volumes. 


Ik. 




c \bis~ • tr 





EDGEWORTH’S 


EARLY LESSONS. 

— * — 

ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 

In offering these little books to those kind mothers, 
who attend to the early instruction of their children, the 
authors beg leave to prefix a few observations on early 
education, which have occurred to them, since the for- 
mer parts of these books were published. 

We found, to our high gratification, during a visit, 
which we lately paid to England, that the attention of 
parents, in every rank of society, was turned to the early 
education of their children. 

Formerly, a child was left, during the first eight or 
ten years, to chance, in every part of its education, ex- 
cept its book , and keeping its clothes clean — the mother 
or the nursery maid attended to the latter, for their own 
sakes — the father, remembering the praises that had 
been bestowed upon himself when he was a child, was anx- 
ious that his son should learn to read as soon as possible. 

The object was to cram children with certain com- 
mon-places of knowledge, to furnish them with answers 
to ready-made questions, to prove that the teachers, 
whether parent, schoolmaster, or private tutor, had kept 
the pupil’s memory, at least, at hard work, and had con- 
fined his limbs and his mind, for many hours in the day,, 
to study. 


4 


EARLY LESSON'S. 


At present, the attention of parents is more extended ; 
they endeavor to give their pupils ieasonable motives for 
industry and application. They watch the tempers and 
dispositions of children ; they endeavor to cultivate the 
general powers of the infant understanding, instead of 
laboring incessantly to make them reading, writing, and 
calculating machines. 

To assist them in these views, parents have now a 
number of excellent elementary books. Such a variety 
of these have of late years been published, that, by a 
proper use of them, more general knowledge can now be 
acquired, by a child, with two hours’ daily application, 
than could have been acquired, fifty years ago, by the 
constant labor of ten hours in the four and twenty. 

There are persons, who think that the ease with which 
knowledge is thus obtained, and its dispersion through 
the wide mass of society, is unfavorable to the advance- 
ment of science ; that knowledge easily acquired is ea- 
sily lost ; that it makes scarcely any salutary im- 
pression upon the mind, impeding, instead of invigo- 
rating its native force ! they assert, that the principal 
use of early learning is to inure the young mind to 
application ; and that the rugged path of scholastic 
discipline taught the foot of the learner to tread more 
firmly, and hardened him to bear the labor of climbing 
the more difficult ascents of literature and science. 

Undoubtedly, the infant mind should be inured to la- 
bor ; but it can scarcely be denied, that it is better to 
bestow that labor upon what is within the comprehen- 
sion of a child, than to cram its memory with what must 
be unintelligible. A child is taught to walk upon smooth 
ground : and no persons, in their senses, would put an 
infant on its legs, for the first time, on rugged rocks. 

It seems to be a very plain direction to a teacher, to 
proceed from what is known to the next step, which is 
not known ; but there are pedagogues, who choose the 
retrograde motion, of going from what is little known to 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


5 


what is less known. Surely a child may be kept em- 
ployed, and his faculties may be sufficiently exercised, 
by gradual instruction, on subjects suited to his capaci- 
ty, where every step advances ; and where the uni- 
versal and rational incentive to application, success, is 
perceived by the learner. 

So far from thinking, that there is a royal road to any 
science, I believe that the road must be long, but I do not 
think it need be rugged ; I am convinced, that a love 
for learning may be early attained, by making it agree- 
able ; that the listless idleness of many an excellent 
scholar arises, not from aversion to application, but from 
having all the family of pain associated with early in- 
struction. By pain , I do not merely mean the pain of cor- 
poral correction, or of any species of direct punishment. 
Even where parents have not recourse to these, they of- 
ten associate pain indissolubly with literature, by com- 
pelling children to read that which they cannot under- 
stand. One of the objects of this address to mothers is 
to deprecate this practice, and to prevent this evil in fu- 
ture. Let me most earnestly conjure the parents and 
teachers, into whose hands these little volumes may 
come, to lay any of them aside immediately, that is not 
easily understood ; a time will come, when that which 
is now rejected may be sought for with avidity. I am 
particularly anxious upon this subject, because we have 
found, from experience, that Early Lessons are not ar- 
ranged in the order, in which, for the facility of the learn- 
er, they ought to be read. In fact, the order, in which 
they were first published, was the order of time in which 
they were written, and not of the matter which they 
contained. The first part of Harry and Lucy was writ- 
ten by me thirty-four years before Frank and Rosamond 
were written by my daughter. Frank is the easiest to 
be understood, and should therefore have come first j 
after Frank, the first part of Harry and Lucy ; then 
Rosamond ; and, lastly, the second part of Harry and 


6 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Lucy, which was written long after the first part had 
been published. This latter part should not be put into 
the hands of pupils before they are eight years old. 
We have heard children say, 1 We love little Frank , 
because it is easy ; but we hate Harry and Lucy, be- 
cause it is difficult .’ We defer implicitly to their 
opinion ; well educated children are, in fact, the best 
judges of what is fit for children. Moliere’s hackneyed 
old woman was not so good a critic of comedy, as a child 
of eight years old might be of books for infants. 

Whenever, therefore, a child, who has in general a 
disposition for instruction, shows a dislike for any book, 
lay it a side at once, without saying anything upon the 
subject ; and put something before him, that is more to 
his taste. For instance, in the following little books, diffe- 
rent parts of them are suited to the tastes of different chil- 
dren, as well as to children of different ages. It is therefore 
strongly recommended to parents, to select what they 
find upon trial to be the best for their immediate purpose, 
and to lay aside the rest for another opportunity. We 
have repeatedly heard parents and teachers complain of 
the want of books for their pupils; can there be a better 
proof of the general improvement, that has taken place of 
late years, iri the modes of instruction, than this desire for 
early literature. When I was a child, I had no resource 
but Newbury’s little books and Mrs. Teaehum ; and now 
when every year produces something new, and some- 
thing good, for the supply of juvenile libraries, there is 
still an increasing demand for children’s books. In a se- 
lection of this sort, teachers of prudence and experience 
are cautious not to be deceived by a name, or by an allu- 
ring title-page ; they previously examine what they put 
into the hands of their scholars; they know that want of 
information in a child is preferable to confused and ob- 
scure instruction ; that, for their pupils to know any one 
thing well, and to be able to convey to others in appropri- 
ate language, the little knowledge which they may have 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


7 


acquired, is far preferable to a string of ready-made 
answers to specific questions, which have been merely 
committed to memory ; that an example of proper con- 
duct, of a noble sentiment, the glow of enthusiasm, raised 
by a simple recital of a generous action, have more influ- 
ence upon the tempers and understanding of children, 
than the most pompous harangues of studied eloquence. 

In choosing books for young people, the enlightened 
parent will endeavor to collect such as tend to give gen- 
eral knowledge, and to strengthen the understanding. 
Books, which teach particular sciences, or distinct bran- 
ches of knowledge, should be sparingly employed. In 
one word, the mind should be prepared for instruction j 
the terms of every art and every science should, in some 
degree, be familiar to the child, before anything like a 
specific treatise on the subject should be read. It is by no 
means our intention to lay down a course of early instruc- 
tion, or to limit the number of books, that may, in succes- 
sion, be safely put into the hands of the pupil. Mrs. Bar- 
bauld’s ‘ Lessons for Children from three to four years 
old,’ have obtained a prescriptive pre-eminence in the 
nursery. These are fit for a child’s first attempts to read 
sentences ; and they go on, in easy progression, to such 
little narratives as ought to follow. Her eloquent hymns 
may next be read. They give an early taste for the su- 
blime language and feelings of devotion. Scriptural sto- 
ries have been selected in some little volumes : these 
may succeed to Mrs. Barbauld’s hymns. No narrative 
makes a greater impression upon the mind than that of 
Joseph and his brethren : — not the story of Joseph, ex- 
panded and adorned by what is falsely called fine wri- 
ting ; but the history of Joseph in the book of Genesis. 

When children can read fluently, the difficulty is not 
to supply them with entertaining books, but to prevent 
them from reading too much and indiscriminately. To 
give them only such as cultivate the moral feelings, and 
create a taste for knowledge, while they, at the same 


8 


EARLY LESSONS. 


time, amuse and interest. A few, and quite sufficient 
for this purpose , may be named ; for instance. ‘ Fabu- 
lous Histories ;’* ‘ Evenings at Home ;’ ‘ Berquin’s Chil- 
dren’s Friend ‘ Sandford and Merton ‘ Little Jack ;’ 

‘ The Children’s Miscellany ;’ ‘ Bob the Terrier ;’ ‘ Dick 
the Pony;’ ‘ The Book of Trades;’ ‘ The Looking-glass, 
or History of a young Artist ;’ ‘ Robinson Crusoe ;’ ‘ The 
Travels of Rolando;’ a book which I mention with some 
hesitation, because, though it contains much knowledge, 
collected from various authors, yet it is too much mixed 
with fiction. ‘ Mrs. Wakefield on Instinct’ 1 name with 
more confidence, because the facts and the fiction are ju- 
diciously separated ; so that the reader is in no danger 
of mistaking truth for falsehood. To this juvenile libra- 
ry, perhaps, may be added parts of ‘ White’s Natural 
History of Selbourne ;’ and parts of 1 Smellie’s Philos- 
ophy of Natural History.’ 

These books are not here named in the order in which 
they should be read ; that must vary according to the 
tastes and capacities of the pupils, and according to va- 
rious accidental circumstances, which it is impossible to 
foresee or enumerate. But here it is necessary to ob- 
serve, that scarcely any one of these books will probably be 
suited, in every part, to any child. Children should not 
be forced to read a book through , but suffered to pass 
over what they do not understand, and to select that 
which suits their tastes, which will generally be found 
to be what they perfectly comprehend. There is no 
danger that this permission should lead to a taste for des- 
ultory reading, if the pupils are confined to a certain 
collection of books. They will, at different ages, and as 
their knowledge enlarges, recur to those parts of the books 
which they had rejected ; and, the taste for reading in- 
creasing, they will, in time, become perfectly acquainted 

[* This excellent work has been published by Munroe & Francis, un- 
der the title of the 1 Robins : or Fabulous Histories ;’ also new and or- 
namented editions of ‘ Berquin’s Children’s Friend ;’ - Sandford and 
Merton j’ ‘ Robinson Crusoe Barbauld 5 &c.&c.] 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


9 


with everything worth attention in their juvenile library. 
— For instance, that excellent work, ‘Evenings at 
Home,’ contains lessons and narratives, suited to different 
capacities, from seven or eight, to twelve or thirteen 
years of age. It would be highly injurious to the work 
and to the young readers, to insist, or even to permit, that 
the whole should be perused at an age, when the whole 
cannot be understood. The same may be said of ‘ The 
Children’s Friend,’ and ‘ Sandford and Merton,’ the last 
volume of which is suited to young men at college ; 
while parts of the first two are fit for children of seven or 
eight, and other parts for ten or twelve years old. In 
these books, the selection may be safely trusted to the 
young readers ; in others, the selection must be made by 
the parent or teacher : for instance, in ‘ Smellie’s Philos- 
ophy of Natural History,’ where there will be found 
many entertaining and instructive facts, suited to chil- 
dren from eight to ten years, mixed with a great deal, 
both of what they cannot understand, and of what 
they ought not to read. 

The ‘ Book of Trades ’ we have just mentioned as a 
most useful book, and it should always precede Joyce’s 
4 Scientific Dialogues.’ Mr. Joyce has contributed much 
to the ease of scientific instruction ; and parents should 
do the author the justice not to put his books too early 
into the hands of children. 

But no book, on scientific subjects, that has yet fallen 
into our hands, exceeds Mrs. Marcet’s ‘ Chemical Dia- 
logues.’ Some of the facts which it contains will un- 
doubtedly be remembered ; but it is not for the chemi- 
cal facts, that this book is so highly valuable, as for the 
clear and easy reasoning, by which the reader is led 
from one proposition to another. I speak from expe- 
rience : one of my children had early acquired such an 
eager taste for reading, as had filled her mind with a 
multitude of facts, and images, and words, which pre- 
vented her from patient investigation, and from those 


10 


EARLY LESSONS. 


habits of thinking, and that logical induction, without 
which, no science, nor any series of truths, can be taught 
The ‘ Chemical Dialogues’ succeeded in giving a turn 
to the thoughts of my pupil, which has produced the 
most salutary effects in her education. Romantic ideas, 
poetic images, and some disdain of common occupations, 
seemed to clear away from her young mind ; and the 
chaos of her thoughts formed a new and rational ar- 
rangement. The child was ten years old at the time 
of which I speak, and from that period her general ap- 
plication has not been diminished, but whatever she reads, 
poetry, history, belles lettres, or science, everything seems 
to find its proper place, and to improve whilst it fills her 
mind. There is still wanting a series of little books, pre- 
paratory to Joyce’s ‘ Scientific Dialogues.’ No attempt, 
humble as it may appear, requires so much skill or pa- 
tience, nor could anything add more effectually to the 
general improvement of the infant understanding than 
such a work. The elementary knowledge, which such 
books should endeavor to inculcate, must be thinly scat- 
tered in entertaining stories ; not with a view to teach 
in play, but with the hope of arresting, for a few mo- 
ments, that volatile attention, which becomes tired with 
sober, isolated instruction. 

Some years since, I wrote ‘ Poetry explained for Chil- 
dren,’ and I have found it highly useful in my own fam- 
ily. It has not, however, been much called for. It is, 
therefore, reasonably to be supposed, that it has not been 
well executed. Such a book is certainly wanting ; and 
if it became popular, it would be of more service in edu- 
cation, than parents are well aware of. Nothing is earlier 
taught to children than extracts from poetry ; they are 
easily got by heart. If a child has a tolerable memory, 
a good ear, and a pleasing voice, the parents are satisfied, 
and the child is extolled for its recitation. Nine times 
out of ten, the sense of what is thus got by rote is neg- 
lected or misunderstood, and the little actor acquires the 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


11 


pernicious habit of reading fluently and committing to 
memory what it does not comprehend. There is still 
something worse in this practice. The understand- 
ing is left dormant, while the memory is too much exen- 
cised ; whereas the'object most desirable is to strengthen 
the memory, only by storing it with useful and accurate 
knowledge. 

Parents are usually anxious to teach history early. 
This should not be done at all, or should be done with 
great caution. There are certain well known volumes 
of Mrs. Trimmer’s, with prints of Grecian, Roman, and 
English history, which are useful to impress the principal 
facts, in history, on the minds of children ; and we have 
lately met with some tiny volumes, under the name of 
Alfred Mills’* ‘ Pictures of English, and of Roman, and 
Grecian History.’ The miniature prints in these are far 
superior to what are usually met with in such books ; 
and the language, and selection of the facts, in these 
miniken histories are, in general, excellent. Abridg- 
ments of history, such as Cooper’s short Histories of En- 
gland and France, Goldsmith’s of Greece and Rome, 
Lord Woodhouslee’s excellent book, or any others, which 
merely give the events, without mixture of political 
reflections, may be read between the ages of eight and 
ten ; but it is absurd to put Hume, Robertson, Macauley, 
Gibbon, or any of our philosophical historians’ works, into 
the hands of children. All that should, or can be done, 
effectually, is to give the young pupils a clear view of the 
outline of history, and to fix in their memories the lead- 
ing facts in the proper order of time. For this purpose, 
there are several genealogical and historical charts, that 
may be useful, even at the early age of nine or ten : — 
Le Sage’s chart contains the fullest, and Stork’s ‘ Stream 
of Time’ by far the clearest view of chronology and his- 

* There is an odd omission, which should bo noticed, in Mr. Alfred 
Mills’ tiny history of England — he omits the life, and records only the 
death of Charles I. 


12 


EARLY LESSONS. 


tory. There are some careless omissions in these, which 
will probably be remedied in future editions. Priestley’s 
Charts of History and of Biography can never be obso- 
lete — To me, his Chart o( history is not so clear either as 
Le Sage or as the Stream of Time*; but I hear from 
those, whose judgment I respect, that it conveys to their 
minds a clear and comprehensive view of its subject. 

For the purpose of fixing in the minds of children a few 
of the leading facts of history, chronology and geography, 
I think, the technical help of what is called artificial 
memory may be safely employed. The succession of 
Roman emperors, of English kings, the large geograph- 
ical divisions of the world, the order of the principal in- 
ventions and discoveries — such as those of gunpowder, 
printing, and the mariner’s compass ; the discovery of 
America, and of the passage to India by the Cape of 
Good Hope, &c. may be chronologically stored in the 
memory, without injury to the understanding. With- 
out encumbering the recollective faculty, twenty or thir- 
ty of Gray’s memorial lines may, when selected, be ea- 
sily committed to memory. They should be recited 
merely as jargon, till they are perfectly learned by rote; 
then the use of the letters, in the terminations of the words, 
which express the dates, should be explained, and the 
pupil should be practised in the use of these : they should 
be frequently referred to, in conversation ; the children 
should be called upon, and made ready in the use of 
their numerical symbols, and, at the same time, made 
sensible of the advantage of the knowledge they have 
thus acquired. 

Any farther than this, I would avoid technical memo- 
ry. Among the ancients, it might, in some degree, sup- 
ply the want of printed books of reference ; but, in our 
days, when knowledge of every sort, that has been hith- 
erto acquired, may be immediately referred to, in every 
common library, or in the shop of every bookseller, it is 
needless to load the memories of children with answers to 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


13 


every possible question in geography and history, 
and with all such learning as is to be found in task 
books. 

Before I quit the subject. I may be permitted to suggest 
to those who are composing, or who intend to compose 
elementary books for children, that what is purely didac- 
tic, and all general reflections, ought, as much as possible, 
to be avoided. Action should be introduced. — Action ! 
— Action ! Whether in morals or science, the thing to 
be taught should seem to arise from the circumstances in 
which the little persons of the drama are placed ; and on 
the proper manner, in which this is managed, will depend 
the excellence and success of initiatory books for children. 
Entertaining story, or natural dialogue, induces the pupil 
to read ; but, on the other hand, unless some useful in- 
struction be mixed with this entertainment, nothing but 
mere amusement will be acceptable, and it will be diffi- 
cult to bring the attention to fix itself, without dislike, 
upon any serious subject. 

In fact, early instruction — I may trust my own expe- 
rience, in the education of a large family — early instruc- 
tion depends more upon oral communication, than upon 
books, either task books or books of amusement, that can 
be found for them, or, perhaps, that can be written. 
Books should be used to recal, arrange, and imprint what 
is learnt by the senses ; they will please the more, when 
they give back the images, that have been slightly 
impressed upon the memory. 

I know, that it is much easier to point out what is desi- 
rable, than to show distinctly the means of accomplishing 
our wishes. How to fill up, from day to day, the aching 
void, in the little breasts of children, is a question, that 
cannot be easily solved. When I recommend teaching, 
as much as possible, by oral instruction, 1 have this grand 
difficulty full in my view ; but 1 hope to point out, that 
means may be found, by which, in some degree, it may 
be obviated. There is scarcely any object which a child 


14 


EARLY LESSONS. 


sees or touches, that may not become a subject for 
conversation and instruction. 

For instance, is the mother dressing ? — the things on 
her dressing table are objects of curiosity to the child. 
The combs are of different sorts — horn, ivory, box, and 
tortoise shell. How can the horns of an ox be made flat, 
so as to be cut into the shape of a comb ? — What is ivo- 
ry ? and where is tortoise shell to be had ? A cane bot- 
tom chair frequently catches the attention of a child — 
it may be made a first lesson in weaving. At breakfast, 
how many objects for instruction ! 

The water in a basin reflects the sun — its image dan- 
ces from place to place as the water moves. A spoon re- 
flects the face, distorted to a frightful length ; if turned in 
another direction, the face becomes ridiculously short. 

The steam rises from the urn — the top is forced off the 
tea-urn — or the water bursts from the spout of a tea-ket- 
tle. The child observes that the water rises in a lump 
of sugar, that is dipped in the tea. The cream swims on 
the the top of the tea — milk mixes with it more readily 
than cream. At dinner, the back bone, and fins, and gills 
of a fish, every bone and joint of a fowl or a hare, or of 
any joint of meat, afford subjects of remark ; and all these 
things, though but very little should be said of them at 
any one time, may, by degrees, be made subservient, not 
only to amusement, but to the acquisition of real 
knowledge. 

It is by no means intended to recommend, that lectures 
should be spoken at every meal, or that the appetites of 
infants should be made to wait for an explanation of what- 
ever they feed upon — it is only suggested, that the com- 
monest circumstance of life, and the commonest objects 
that occur, may become the means of teaching useful 
facts, and what is of more consequence, habits of obser- 
vation and reasoning. It will be objected, that, al- 
though the subjects which are here alluded to are famil- 
iar and of daily occurrence in families of all ranks, pa- 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


15 


rents themselves are frequently not sufficiently capable 
of giving the instruction which is required. 

To this it may be answered, that scarcely any parents 
are so situated, that they may not, without effort, acquire, 
from time to time, the little knowledge which they wish 
to communicate — at least so far as is requisite to ex- 
cite and support the curiosity of their pupils. 

All this may be easily effected by the higher classes of 
parents, who have leisure to attend to their children ; and 
those parents, who have not time themselves to pursue 
this course of tuition, may find proper assistants, at no 
great expense. There are, in England, many persons, 
who would be suited to such situations — widows, and 
elderly unmarried women, who are above the slation of 
ordinary domestics, and yet are not sufficiently instructed 
or accomplished to become governesses. Such persons 
might be employed, to take the early care of children, 
while the lower offices of the nursery maid might be per- 
formed by common, uneducated servants. No person 
should daily or hourly converse with children, or should 
have power over them, or any share in the management 
of their minds, who does not possess good temper, and a 
certain degree of good sense. Accomplishments, learn- 
ing, or even much information , in the usual sense of 
the word, will be unnecessary for the kind of assistants 
here described ; but the habit of speaking good lan- 
guage, and in a good accent, is indispensable. 

All the knowledge requisite for explaining common 
objects, to children from six to eight years old, may be 
gradually acquired, as occasion calls for it daily; and 
good sense, with a little practice, will soon teach the 
teacher how to manage instruction in conversation. 

In families of less affluence, where this subordinate 
governess or attendant cannot be afforded, and when the 
mother cannot secure a friend to assist her, or has not an 
elder daughter to take a part in the care of the younger 
ones, the mother must give up more of her own time to 


16 


EARLY LESSONS. 


her children, than is usual or agreeable, or else she must 
send them to school. 

Here recurs the difficulty of finding schools, where 
children can be rationally taught; that is to say, where 
distinct and useful knowledge may be clearly conveyed 
to their understandings, without unnecessary confinement, 
slavish habits, or corporal correction. To keep children 
poring over books that they cannot understand, or cast- 
ing up sums without making them acquainted with the 
reasons for the rules which they mechanically follow, is 
all that can be expected from a common schoolmaster, 
or, to speak more properly, from a common school. Pa- 
rents send young children to school, not only to learn 
what is professed to be taught, but also to keep their 
troublesome infants out of harm’s way. Were the 
schoolmaster ever so much enlightened, or ever so well 
disposed, he must comply with the expectations of pa- 
rents — he must keep his scholars apparently at work for 
a given number of hours — or he cannot satisfy his em- 
ployers. 

What is to be done? 

The schoolmaster must appear to do as others do. 
The remedy does not lie with the school, or with the 
schoolmaster, but with the parents. Until parents are 
convinced of the inefficacy of the present system, things 
must remain as they are. When they are persuaded, 
that a reform is necessary, the next thing is to consider 
how it can be accomplished. 

To encourage good elementary schools, more liberal 
emoluments must be allowed to schoolmasters and mis- 
tresses. To effect this purpose, without raising the 
present price of schooling, nothing more is necessary 
than to shorten the present enormous duration of school 
houis. 

Two hours’ attention is more than sufficient for the 
acquirement of any thing, which a young child ought 
to learn in a day ; and even these two hours should be 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


17 


interrupted by a relaxation of at least one-third of that 
time. Thus four different sets, or classes, of scholars 
might be sent daily to the same school, and for each 
class the present prices should be paid ; so that the mas- 
ter might have his salary considerably increased, without . 
giving up more of his time than he does at present. 

The numerous schools for early education, that are 
establishing, or that are already established in the me- 
tropolis, and in all the large towns of England, will, if 
they be properly managed, leave little to be desired upon 
the subject of education, for children between the years 
of seven and twelve. 

The active modes of instruction, which Bell and Lan- 
caster have introduced, are fully as advantageous, as 
the low price of schooling ; the children are prevented 
from drowsing over their lessons, and their little bodies 
are kept in some degree of motion. Certain petty 
mountebankisms will, by degrees, be laid aside; and 
the good sense of the excellent persons, who give not 
only their money, but their time, to the superintendence 
of such establishments, will soon improve whatever re- 
quires commendation. 

A good system for infant management, as it relates 
to the temper, the habits of truth, industry, cleanliness, 
neatness, and to the forming children to habits of obser- 
vation, reasoning, and good sense — objects of far great- 
er consequence, than the mere teaching to read and 
write, or cast up accounts — remains still to be formed 
and executed. Such schools are wanting, both for the 
middling classes and for the lower classes of the people 
and I apprehend that they cannot well be formed any 
way so well as by actual experiment. 

Ladies, who have leisure, may, in the country, make 
trials of whatever occurs to them on this subject. The 
occupations and plays, liberty and restraint, rewards and 
punishments of children, in those little communities wo 
2 


18 


ADDRESS TO MOTHERS. 


call schools, may thus be examined and their respective 
excellence and defects may be compared ; and in time, 
some general results will be established. 

For such an inquiry, next to a steady desire to be 
of service, patient attention, from day to day, is what 
must be most effectual. 

These schools are what are commonly called dame 
schools. 

A dame school, such as may prepare children for 
seminaries of a higher class, should, as much as possi- 
ble, resemble a large private family, where the mis- 
tress may be considered as the mother. The children 
never should be out of the sight of their mistress, and 
their plays, as well as their tasks, should be equally an 
object of her care. And here, as in every other place 
of instruction, the hours, or rather the minutes, of labor, 
should be short, with frequent intermission ; so that the 
habit of attention may, by degrees, be induced, and 
may, by reiteration, be fortified. 

Much of that useful enthusiasm, which animates all 
classes of people to encourage schools for young chil- 
dren, is owing to the female sex. They have more 
immediate opportunities of seeing the necessity, and 
of appreciating the merit of such schools ; their leisure 
permits them to inspect, more minutely, establishments 
of this sort; and their acquaintance with the early 
propensities and habits of children enable them to di- 
rect, successfully, their instruction ; and it may be rea- 
sonably hoped, that, under their care, dame schools, 
with mistresses judiciously chosen, may be established 
whenever they are wanting. Another generation will 
reap the advantages of what has been begun in this ; 
and teachers of both sexes, and of various degrees of 
information, will hereafter be procured with ease ; and 
elementary schools will be established in every part 
of the united kingdom. 


R.L.E. 


THE 


LITTLE DOG TRUSTY: 


OR 

THE LIAR AND THE BOY OF TRUTH. 


Very, very little children must not read this 
story ; for they cannot understand it ( they 
will not know what is meant by a liar and a 
boy of truth. 

Very little children, when they are asked a 
question, say ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ without know- 
ing the meaning of the words ; but you, chil- 
dren, who can speak quite plain, and who 
can tell by words what you wish for, and 
what you want, and what you have seen, and 
what you have done : you who understand 
what is meant by the words ‘ I have done it;’ 
or ‘ I have not,’ you may read this story : for 
you can understand it. 

Frank and Robert were two little boys, 
about eight years old. 

Whenever Frank did any thing wrong, he 
always told his father and mother of it ; and 
when any body asked him about any thing 
which he had done or said, he always told the 


20 


EARLY LESSONS. 


truth ; so that everybody who knew him, 
believed him ; but nobody who knew his bro- 
ther Robert, believed a word which he said, 
because he used to tell lies. 

Whenever he did any thing wrong, he ne- 
ver ran to his father and mother to tell them 
of it ; but when they asked him about it, he 
denied it, and said he had not done the things 
which he had done. 

The reason that Robert told lies was, be- 
cause he was afraid of being punished for his 
faults, if he confessed them. He was a coward, 
and could not bear the least pain ; but Frank 
was a brave boy, and could bear to be punish- 
ed for little faults : his mother never punished 
him so much for such little faults, as she did 
Robert for the lies which he told, and which 
she found out afterwards. 

One evening these two little boys were play- 
ing together in a room by themselves ; their 
mother was ironing in a room next to them, 
and their father was out at work in the fields, 
so there was nobody in the room with Robert 
and Frank , but there was a little dog named 
Trusty, lying by the fireside. 

Trusty was a pretty playful little dog, and 
the children were very fond of him. 

1 Come,’ said Robert to Frank, 1 there is 
Trusty lying beside the fire asleep ; let us go 
and waken him, and he will play with us.’ 

‘ O yes, do let us,’ said Frank. So they 
both ran together towards the hearth, to wa- 
ken the dog. 


LITTLE DOG TRUSTY. 


21 


Now there was a basin of milk standing 
upon the hearth; and the little boys did not 
see whereabouts it stood, for it was behind 
them ; as they were both playing with the 
dog, they kicked it with their feet and threw 
it down ; and the basin broke, and all the 
milk ran out of it over the hearth, and about 
the floor ; and when the little boys saw what 
they had done they were very sorry and frigh- 
tened ; but they did not know what to do ; 
they stood for some time, looking at the bro- 
ken basin and the milk, without speaking. 

Robert spoke first. 

1 So we shall have no milk for supper to- 
night/ said he ; and he sighed • 

‘ No milk for supper ! — why not7’ said 
Frank ; £ is there no more milk in the house V 

1 Yes, but we shall have none of it ; for do 
not you remember, last Monday, when we 
threw down the milk, mother said we were 
very careless, and that the next time we did 
so, we should have no more ; and this is the 
next time ; so we shall have no milk for sup- 
per to-night.’ 

£ Well then/ said Frank, £ we must do with- 
out it, that’s alLk we will take more care ano- 
ther time, therJ^ no great harm done : come, 
let us run and tell mother. You know she 
bid us always tell her directly when we broke 
anything; so come/ said he, taking hold of 
his brother’s hand. 

1 I won’t come, just now/ said Robert, 
don’t be in such a hurry, Frank — Can’t you 


22 


EARLY LESSONS. 


stay a minute V So Frank staid ; and then 
he said, ‘come now, Robert.’ But Robert 
answered, 1 stay a little longer ; for I dare not 
go yet — I am afraid.’ 

Little boys, I advise you never be afraid to 
tell the truth : never say 1 Stay a minute , 7 
and ‘ Stay a little longer ;’ but run directly 
and tell of what you have done that is wrong. 
The longer you stay, the more afraid you will 
grow, till at last perhaps you will not dare to 
tell the truth at all. Hear what happened to 
Robert. 

The longer he staid the more unwilling he 
was to go to tell his mother that he had 
thrown the milk down ; and at last he pulled 
his hand away from his brother, and cried, 

‘ I won’t go at all, Frank, can’t you go by 
yourself?’ 

1 Yes,’ said Frank, ‘ so I will ; I am not 
afraid to go by myself : I only waited for you 
out of good nature, because I thought you 
would like to tell the truth too.’ 

‘ Yes, so I will ; I mean to tell the truth 
when I am asked ; but I need not go now 
when I do not choose it : and why need you 
go either ? Can’t you wait tore ? Surely my 
mother can see the milk when she comes in.’ 

Frank said no more, but, as his brother 
would not come, he went without him. He 
opened the door of the next room, where he 
thought his mother was ironing ; but when 
he went in he saw that she was gone ; and 
thought that she was gone to fetch some more 


LITTLE DOG TRUSTY. 


23 


clothes to iron. The clothes he knew were 
hanging on the hushes in the garden ; so he 
thought his mother was gone there ; and he 
ran after her to tell her what had happened. 

Now whilst Frank was gone, Robert was 
left in the room by himself ; and all the while 
he was alone he was thinking of some excu- 
ses to make to his mother ; and he was sorry 
that Frank was gone to tell her the truth. He 
said to himself, 1 If Frank and I both were 
to say that we did not throw down the basin, 
she would believe us, and we should have 
milk for supper. I am very sorry Frank 
would go and tell her about it.’ 

Just as he said this to himself, he heard his 
mother coming down stairs — ‘O ho !’ said he 
to himself, L then my mother has not been 
out in the garden, and so Frank has not met 
her, and cannot have told her ; so now I may 
say what I please.’ 

Then this naughty, cowardly boy deter- 
mined to tell his mother a lie. 

She came into the room ; but when she saw 
the broken basin and the milk spilled, she 
stopped short, and cried 1 So, so ! — What 
a piece of work^s here ! Who did this, 
Robert?’ 

1 I don’t know, ma’am,’ said Robert, in a 
very low voice. 

‘ You don’t know, Robert ! tell me the 
truth. I shall not be angry with you, child. 
You will only lose the milk at supper ; and 
as for the basin, I would rather have you 


24 


EARLY LESSONS. 


break all the basins I have, than tell me one 
lie. So don’t tell me a lie. I ask you, Rob- 
ert ; did you break the basin V 

1 No, ma’am, I did not,’ said Robert ; and 
he coloured as red as fire. 

‘ Then, where’s Frank ? did he do it V 

1 No, mother, he did not,’ said Robert : 
for he was in hopes that when Frank came 
in, he should persuade him to say that he did 
not do it. 

1 How do you know,’ said his mother, 
1 that Frank did not do it V 

1 Because — because — because — ma’am,’ 
said Robert, hesitating as liars do for an ex- 
cuse, 1 because I was in the room all the time 
and I did not see him do it.’ 

‘ Then how was the basin thrown down ? 
If you have been in the room all the time, 
you can tell.’ 

Then Robert going on from one lie to an- 
other answered, ‘ I suppose the dog must 
have done it.’ 

‘ Did you see him do it V says his mother. 

1 Yes,’ said this wicked boy. 

‘ Trusty, Trusty,’ said his mother, turning 
round; and Trusty, who >vas lying before 
the fire drying his legs, which were wet with 
the milk, jumped up and came to her. Then 
she said ‘ Fie ! fie ! Trusty !’ pointing to the 
milk. ‘ Get me a switch out of the garden, 
Robert ; Trusty must be beat for this.’ 

Robert ran for the switch, and in the gar- 
den he met his brother : he stopped him and 


LITTLE DOG TRUSTY. 


25 



told him in a great hurry, all that he had saia 
to his mother : and he begged of him not t« » 
tell the truth, but to say the same as he ha^ 
done, 

1 No, I will not tell a lie,’ Frank saio 
‘ What ! and is Trusty to be beat ! He di 
not throw down the milk, and he shan’t be 
beat for it. Let me go to my mother.’ 

They both ran towards the house. Robei i 
got first home, and he locked the house dooi , 
that Frank might not come in. He gave the* 
switch to his mother. 

Poor Trusty ! he looked up as the switch 
was lifted over his head ! but he could not 
3 


26 


EARLY LESSONS. 


speak to tell the truth. Just as the blow was 
falling upon him, Frank’s voice was heard at 
the window. 

‘ Stop, stop ! dear mother, stop !’ cried he 
as loud as he could call ; ‘ Trusty did not 
do it — let me in — I and Robert did it — but do 
not beat Robert.’ 

* Let us in, let us in,’ cried another voice 
which Robert knew to be his father’s, £ I am 
just come from work, and here’s the door 
locked.’ 

Robert turned as pale as ashes when he 
heard his father’s voice ; for his father al- 
ways whipped him when he told a lie. 

His mother went to the door and unlocked it. 

1 What’s all this V cried his father, as he 
came in ; so his mother told him all that had 
happened ; how the milk had been thrown 
down ; how she had asked Robert whether 
he had done it ; and he said that he had not, 
and that Frank had not done it, but that 
Trusty the dog had done it ; how she was 
just going to beat Trusty, when Frank came 
to the window and told the truth. 

1 Where is the switch with which you were 
going to beat Trusty V said their father. 

Then Robert, who saw by his father’s 
looks that he was going to beat him, fell 
upon his knees and cried for mercy, saying, 
* Forgive me this time, and I never will tell 
a lie again.’ 

But his father caught hold of him by the 
arm — ‘ I will whip you now,’ said he, 1 and 


LITTLE DOG TRUSTY. 


27 



then I hope you will not.’ So Robert was 
whipped till he cried so loud with the pain, 
that the whole neighborhood could hear him, 
1 There,’ said his father when he had done. 

1 now go to-bed ; you are to have no milk to- 
night, and you have been whipped. See how 
liars are served !’ Then, turning to Frank, 
‘ Come here and shake hands with me, Frank ; 
you will have no milk for supper ; but that 
does not signify ; you have told the truth, 
and have not been whipped, and everybody 
is pleased with you. And now I’ll tell you 
what I’ll do for you — I will give you the little 
dog Trusty to be your own dog. You shall 
feed him, and take care of him, and he shall 


28 


EARLY LESSONS. 


be your dog ; you have saved him a beating 
and I’ll answer for it, you’ll be a good master 
to him. Trusty, Trusty ! come here.’ 

Trusty came ; then Frank’s father took off 
Trusty’s collar. ‘ To-morrow I’ll go to the 
brazier’s,’ added he, ‘ and get a new collar 
made for your dog : from this day forward he 
shall always be called after you, Frank /’ 


THJB 


ORANGE MAN: 

OR 

t 

THE HONEST BOY AND THE THIEF. 


Charles was the name of the honest boy; 
and Ned was the name of the thief. 

Charles never touched what was , not his 
own : this is being an honest boy. 

Ned often took what was not his own : 
this is being a thief. 

Charles’s father and mother, when he was 
a very little boy, had taught him to be hon- 
est, by always punishing him when he med- 
dled with what was not his own : but 
when Ned took what was not his own, his 
father and mother did not punish him : so 
he grew up to be a thief. 

Early one summer morning, as Charles 
was going along the road to school, he met a 
man leading a horse which was laden with 
panniers. 

The man stopped at the door of a public 
house which was by the road side : and he said 
to the landlord, who came to the door, 1 I 


30 


EARLY LESSONS. 


won’t have my horse unloaded ; I shall only 
stop with you while I eat my breakfast. Give 
my horse to some one to hold here on the road, 
and let the horse have a little hay to eat.’ 

The landlord called ; but there was no one 
in the way ; so he beckoned to Charles, who 
was going by, and begged him to hold the horse. 

1 O,’ said the man, 1 but can you engage 
him to be an honest boy 7 for these are or- 
anges in my baskets ; and it is not every lit- 
tle boy one can leave with oranges.’ 

1 Yes,’ said the landlord, 4 I have known 
Charles from the cradle upwards, and I nev- 
er caught him in a lie or a theft : all the 
parish knows him to be an honest boy ; I’ll 
engage your oranges will be as safe with 
him, as if you were by yourself.’ 

1 Can you so V said the orange man ; 4 then 
I’ll engage, my lad, to give you the finest or- 
ange in my basket, when I come from break- 
fast, if you will watch the rest whilst I am 
away.’ 

1 Yes,’ said Charles, 4 I will take care of 
your oranges.’ 

So the man put the bridle into his 
hand, and he went into the house to eat his 
breakfast. 

Charles had watched the horse and the or- 
anges about five minutes, when he saw one 
of his schoolfellows coming towards him. As 
he came nearer Charles saw that it was Ned. 

Ned stopped as he passed, and said, ‘Good- 
morrow to you, Charles ; what are you do- 


THE ORANGE MAN. 


31 


ing there ? whose horse is that ? and what 
have you got in the baskets V 

‘ There are oranges in the baskets,’ said 
Charles ; 1 and a man, who has just gone 
into the inn here, to eat his breakfast, bid me 
take care of them, and so I did ; because he 
said he would give me an orange, when he 
came back again.’ 

1 An orange !’ cried Ned ; ‘ are you to have 
a whole orange ? I wish I was to have one ! 
However, let me look how large they are.’ Say- 
ing this, Ned went towards the pannier, and lift- 
ed up the cloth that covered it. 1 La ! what 
fine oranges !’ he exclaimed the moment he 
saw them : ‘ Let me touch them, to feel if 
they are ripe.’ 

1 No,’ said Charles, 1 you had better not ; 
what signifies it to you whether they are ripe, 
you know, since you are not to eat them. You 
should not meddle with them ; they are not 
yours : You must not touch them.’ 

‘ Not touch them ! surely,’ said Ned, 
* there’s no harm in touching them. You 
don’t think I mean to steal them I suppose.’ 
So Ned put his hand into the orange-man’s 
basket, and he took up an orange, and he felt 
it ; and when he had felt it, he smelled it. 

‘ It smells very sweet,’ said he, 1 and it feels 
very ripe ; I long to taste it ; I will only just 
suck one drop of juice at the top.’ Saying 
these words, he put the orange to his mouth. 

Little boys, who wish to be honest, beware 
of temptation ; do not depend too much upon 


32 


EARLY LESSONS. 


yourselves ; and remember that it is easier td 
resolve to do right at first, than at last. Peo- 
ple are led on by little and little to do wrong. 

The sight of the oranges tempted Ned to 
touch them ; and the touch tempted him to 
smell them ; and the smell tempted him to 
taste them. 

‘ What are you about, Ned V cried Charles, 
taking hold of his arm. You said you only 
wanted to smell the orange ; do put it down, 
for shame !’ 

1 Don’t say for' shame to me,’ cried Ned in 
a surly tone ; ‘ the oranges are not yours, 
Charles !’ 

1 No, they are not mine ; but I promised 
co take care of them, and so I will : — so put 
iown that orange !’ 

* O, if it comes to that, I won’t,’ said Ned; 

‘ and let us see who can make me, if I don’t 
choose it ? I’m stronger than you.’ 

1 I am not afraid of you for all that,’ replied 
Charles, 4 for I am in the right.’ Then he 
snatched the orange out of Ned’s hand, and 
he pushed him with all his force from the bas- 
ket. Ned, immediately returning, hit him a 
violent blow which almost stunned him. 

Still however this good boy, without mind- 
ing the pain, persevered in defending what 
was left in his care ; he still held the bridle 
with one hand, and covered the basket with 
his other arm as well as he could. 

Ned struggled in vain, to get his hands into 
the pannier again ; he could not ; and finding 


THE ORANGE MAN. 


33 



he could not win by strength, he had recourse 
to cunning. So he pretended to be out of 
breath and to desist : but he meant as soon 
as Charles looked away, to creep softly round 
to the basket on the other side. 

Cunning people, though they think them- 
selves very wise, are almost always very silly. 

Ned, intent upon one thing, the getting 
round to steal the oranges, forgot that if he 
went too close to the horse’s heels, he should 
startle him. 

The horse indeed, disturbed by the bustle 
near him, had already^ left off eating his hay 
and began to put down his ears ; but when 
he felt something touch his hind legs, he gavo 


34 


EARLY LESSONS. 


a sudden kick, and Ned fell backwards just 
as he had seized the orange. 

Ned screamed with the pain : and at the 
scream all the people came out of the public 
house to see what was the matter : and a- 
mongst them came the orange--man. 

Ned was now so much ashamed, that he 
almost forgot the pain, and wished to run 
away ; but he was so much hurt, that he 
was obliged to sit down again. 

The truth of the matter was soon told by 
Charles, and as soon believed by all the peo- 
ple present who knew him ; for he had the 
character of being an honest boy ; and Ned 
was known to be a thief and a liar. 

So nobody pitied Ned for the pain he felt. 

1 He deserves it,’ says one. 1 Why did he 
meddle with what was not his own V — 
‘ Pugh ! he is not much hurt, I’ll answer for 
it,’ said another. ‘ And if he was, it's a 
lucky kick for him, if it keeps him from the 
gallows,’ says a third. Charles was the only 
person who said nothing ; he helped Ned a- 
way to a bank ; for boys that are brave are 
always good-natured. 

1 O, come here, ’ said the orange-man, call- 
ing him ; 1 come here, my honest lad ! what I 
you got that black* eye in keeping my oran- 
ges, did you '} — that’ s a stout little fellow,’ 
said he, taking him by the hand, and leading 
him into the midst ofHhe people. 

Men, women, and children, had gathered 
around, and all the children fixed theii 


THE ORANGE MAN. 


35 



eyes upon Charles and wished to be in his 
place. 

In the mean time, the orange-man took 
Charles’s hat off his head, and filled it with 
the fine china oranges. 1 There, my little 
friend, 7 said he, 1 take them, and God bless 
you with them ! If I could but afford it, you 
should have all that is in my basket.’ 

Then the people, and especially the chil- 
dren, shouted for joy ; but as soon as there 
was silence, Charles said to the orange-man, 
‘ Thank’e, master, with all my heart;, but 
I can’t take your oranges, only that one I 
earned ! take the rest back again ; as for a 
black eye, that’s nothing ! but I won’t be paid 


36 


EARLY LESSONS. 


for it, no more than for doing what’s honest. 
So I can’t take your oranges, master ; but I 
thank you as much as if I had them.’ Say- 
ing these words he offered to pour the oran- 
ges back into the basket ; but the man would 
not let him. 1 Then,’ said Charles, ‘ if they 
are honestly mine, I may give them away 
so he emptied the hat amongst the children 
his companions. ‘ Divide them amongst 
you,’ said he ; and without waiting for their 
thanks, he pressed through the crowd and ran 
home. The children all followed him, clap- 
ping their hands, and thanking him. 

The little thief came limping after. Nobody 
praised him, nobody thanked him ; he had no 
oranges to eat, nor had he any to give away. 
Peoj)le must be honest before they can be gene- 
rous. Ned sighed as he went towards home ; 

‘ And all this,’ said he to himself, ‘ was for one 
orange ; it was not worth while.’ 

No ; it is never worth while to do wrong. 

Little boys, who read this story, consider 
which would you rather have been, the hon- 
est boy , or the thief ? 


THE 


CHERRY ORCHARD. 


Marianne was a little girl of about eight 
years old ; she was remarkably good temper- 
ed ; she could bear to be disappointed, or to be 
contradicted, or to be blamed, without look- 
ing or feeling peevish, or sullen, or angry. 
Her parents, and her schoolmistress and com- 
panions, all loved her, because she was obli- 
ging. 

Marianne had a cousin, a year younger 
than herself, named Owen, who was an ill 
tempered boy ; almost every day he was cry- 
ing, or pouting, or in a passion, about some 
trifle or other ; he was neither obedient nor 
obliging. His play-fellows could not love 
him ; for he was continually quarrelling with 
them ; he would never, either when he was 
at play or at work, do what they wished ; 
but he always tried to force them to yield to 
his will and his humor. 

One fine summer’s evening, Marianne and 
Owen were setting out, with several of their 
companions to school. It was a walk ot 


38 


EARLY LESSONS. 


about a mile from the town in which their 
fathers and mothers lived to the school house, 
if they went by the high-road ; but there was 
another way, through a lane, which was a 
quarter of a mile shorter. 

Marianne, and most of the children, liked 
to go by the lane, because they could gather 
the pretty flowers which grew on the banks, 
and in the hedges ; but Owen preferred going 
by the high-road, because he liked to see the 
carts, and carriages and horsemen, which 
usually were seen upon this road. 

Just when they were setting out, Owen 
called to Marianne, who was turning into 
the lane. 

‘ Marianne,’ said he, 1 you must not go by 
the lane to-day ; you must go by the road.’ 

‘ Why must not I go by the lane to-day V 
said Marianne ; 1 you know yesterday and 

the day before, that we all went by the high- 
road, only to please you ; and now let us go 
by the lane, because we want to gather some 
honey-suckles and dog-roses, to fill our 
dame’s flower-pots.’ 

‘ I don’t care for that ; I don’t want to fill 
our dame’s flower-pots ; I don’t want to ga- 
ther honey-suckles and dog-roses ; I want to 
see the coaches and chaises on the road ; and 
you must go my way, Marianne V 

1 Must ! O, you should not say must] re- 
plied Marianne in a gentle tone. 

1 No indeed !’ cried one of her companions, 
* you should not ; nor should you look so 


THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 39 

cross ; that is not the way to make us do 
what you like.’ 

1 And besides,’ said another, 1 what right 
has he always to make us do as he pleases ? 
He never will do any thing that we wish.’ 

Owen grew quite angry when he heard 
this ; and he was going to make some sharp 
answer, when Marianne, who was good-na- 
tured, and always endeavored to prevent 
quarrels, said, ‘ Let us do what he asks, this 
once ; and I dare say he will do what we 
please the next time — we will go by the high- 
road to school, and we can come back by the 
lane in the cool of the evening.’ 

To please Marianne, whom they all loved, 
they agreed to this proposal. They went by 
the high-road; but Owen was not satisfied, 
because he saw that his companions did not 
comply for his sake ; and as he walked on, he 
began to kick up the dust with his feet, say- 
ing, ‘I’m sure it is much pleasanter here than 
in the lane ; I wish we were to come back 
this way — I’m sure it is much pleasanter here 
than in the lane ; is it not, Marianne V 

Marianne could not say that she thought 
so. 

Owen kicked up the dust more and more. 

1 Do not make such a dust, dear Owen,’ 
said she ; ‘ look how you have covered my 
shoes and clean stockings with dust.’ 

1 Then say that it is pleasanter here than 
in the lane. I shall go on making this dust 
till you say that.’ 


40 


EARLY LESSONS. 


‘ I cannot say that, because I do not think 
so, Owen . 7 

‘ I will make you think so, and say so too . 7 

‘ You are not taking the right way to 
make me think so ; you know that I cannot 
think this dust agreeable . 7 

Owen persisted ; and he raised continually 
a fresh cloud of dust, in spite of all that Mari- 
anne or his companions could say to him. 
They left him, and went to the opposite side 
of the road ; but wherever they went he pur- 
sued — At length they came to a turnpike gate, 
on one side of which there was a turn-stile ; 
Marianne and the rest of the children passed, 
one by one, through the turn-stile, while Owen 
was emptying his shoes of the dust. When 
this was done, he looked up and saw all his 
companions on the other side of the gate 
holding the turnstile, to prevent him from 
coming through . 7 

‘ Let me through, let me through , 7 cried he, 

£ I must and will come through . 7 

‘No, no, Owen , 7 said they, ‘ must will not 
do now ; we have you safe ; here are ten of 
us ; and we will not let you come through till 
you will promise not to make any more 
dust . 7 

Owen, without making any answer, began 
to kick, and push, and struggle, with all 
his might ; but in vain he struggled, pulled, 
pushed and kicked ; he found that ten people 
are stronger than one. When he felt that he 
could not conquer them by force, he began to 


TSE CSEXiY OK-CHAE-D. 


41 


cry : and he roared as loud as he possibly 
could. 

No one but the turnpike-man was within 
hearing : and he stood laughing at Owen. 

Owen tried to climb the gate, but he could 
not get over it, because there were iron spikes 
at the top. 

* Only promise that you will not kick up 
the dust, and they will let you through. 7 said 
Marianne. 

Owen made no answer, bat continued to 
srrdbgie till his whole face was scarlet^ and 
till brrii his w ris t s ached : he could not move 
the tum-stile an inch. 

Wed/ said he stopping short. ; now yon 
are all of you joined together, yon are strong- 
er than I : but I am as conning as you/ 

He left the stile, and began to walk home- 
wards. 

■ Where are you going * Ton will be too 
late at schooL if yon turn back and go by the 
lane.' said Marianne. 

1 1 know that. Yery well : but that will be 
your fault and not mine — I shall ted our 
dame, that you all of you held the t urn-stile 
against me. and would not let me thn ugh. 7 

And we shall tell our dame why we held 

ekiidreu; c and then it will be plain that it 
was yoc" fault/ 

Perhaps Owen did not hear this : for he was 
now a: some distance from the gate. Pres- 
4 


42 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ently he heard some one running after him — 
it was Marianne. 

‘ O, I am so much out of breath with run- 
ning after you, — I can hardly speak ! — But I 
am come back,’ said this good-natured girl, 

‘ to tell you that you will be sorry if you 
do not come with us ; for there is something 
that you like very much, just at the turn of 
the road, a little beyond the turnpike gate.’ 

‘ Something that I like very much ! — What 
can that be ?’ 

‘ Come with me and you shall see,' said 
Marianne ; ‘ that is both rhyme and reason. 
Come with me, and you shall see.' 

She looked so good humored, as she smil- 
ed and nodded at him, that he could not be 
sullen any longer. 

‘I don’t know how it is, cousin Marianne,’ 
said he ; ‘ but when I am cross you are never 
cross ; and you can always bring me back to 
good humor again, you are so good-humored 
yourself — I wish I was like you — But we need 
not talk any more of that now — What is it 
that I shall see on the other side of the turn- 
pike-gate? — What is it thatl like very much?’ 

‘ Don’t you like ripe cherries very much V 

‘ Yes ; but they don’t grow in these hedges.’ 

‘ No ; but there is an old woman sitting by 
the road side, with a board before her, which 
is covered with red ripe cherries.’ „ 

‘ Red ripe cherries ! Let us make haste,’ 
cried Owen. He ran on as fast as he could ; 
but, as soon as the children saw him running* 


THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 


43 


they also began to run back to the turnstile ; 
and they reached it before he did ; and they 
held it fast as before, saying, ‘ Promise you 
will not kick up the dust, or we will not let 
you through.’ 

‘ The cherries are very ripe,’ said Mari- 
anne. 

1 Well, well, I will not kick up the dust — 
Let me through,’ said Owen. 

They did so, and he kept his word ; for, 
though he was ill-humored, he was a boy of 
truth : and he always kept his promises — He 
found the cherries looked red and ripe as Ma- 
rianne had described them. 

The old woman took up a long stick that 
lay on the board before her. Bunches of 
cherries were tied with white thread to this 
stick : and, as she shook it in the air over the 
heads of the children, they all looked up with 
longing eyes. 

‘ A halfpenny a bunch ! — Who will buy ? 
Who will buy ? Who will buy ? — Nice ripe 
cherries !’ cried the old woman. 

The children held out their halfpence ; 
and ‘ Give me a bunch,’ and £ Give me a 
bunch !’ was heard on all sides. 

1 Here are eleven of you,’ said the old wo- 
man, ‘ and there are just eleven bunches on 
this stick.’ 

She put the stick into Marianne’s hand as 
she spoke. 

Marianne began to untie the bunches ; and 
her companions pressed closer and closer to 


44 


EARLY LESSONS. 



her, each eager to have the particular hunch 
which they thought the largest and the ripest. 

Several fixed upon the uppermost, which 
looked indeed extremely ripe. 

‘ You cannot all have this bunch,’ said 
Marianne ; ‘ to which of you must I give 
it 7 You all wish for it V 

* Give it to me, give it to me,’ was the first 
cry of each ; but the second was, 1 Keep it 
yourself, Marianne ; keep it yourself.’ 

* Now, Owen, see what it is to be good-na- 
tured, and good-humored, like Marianne,’ said 
Cymon, the eldest of the boys, who stood near 
him. ‘ We are all ready to give up the ri- 


THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 


45 


pest cherries to Marianne ; but we should 
never think of doing so for you, because you 
are so cross and disagreeable.” 

‘ I am not cross now ; I am not disagree- 
able now ,’ replied Owen ; ‘ and I do not in- 
tend to be cross and disagreeable any more.’ 

This was a good resolution : but Owen did 
not keep it many minutes. In the bunch 
of cherries which Marianne gave to him for his 
share, there was one which, though red on one 
side, was entirely white and hard on the other. 

1 This cherry is not ripe ; and here’s anoth- 
er that has been half eaten away by the birds. 
O, Marianne, you gave me this bad bunch on 
purpose — I will not have this bunch.’ 

‘ Somebody must have it,’ said Cymon ; 
‘ and I do not see that it is worse than the 
others ; we all shall have some cherries that 
are not so good as the rest ; but we shall not 
grumble and look so cross about it as you do.’ 

1 Give me your bad cherries, and I will give 
you two out of my fine bunch, instead of 
them,’ said the good-natured Marianne. 

1 No, no, no !’ cried the children ; 1 Mari- 
anne, keep your own cherries.’ 

‘ Are you not ashamed, Owen ?’ said Cy- 
mon — 1 How can you be so greedy V 

1 Greedy ! — I am not greedy,’ cried Owen, 
angrily ; 1 but I will not have the worst cher- 
ries ; I will have another bunch.’ 

He tried to snatch another bunch from the 
stick. Cymon held it above his head. Owen 
leaped up, reached it, and when his compan- 


46 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ions closed round him, exclaiming against his 
violence, he grew still more angiy; he threw 
the stick down upon the ground, and trampled 
upon every bunch of the cherries in his fury, 
scarcely knowing what he did, or what he said. 

When his companions saw the ground 
stained with the red juice of their cherries, 
which he trampled under his feet, they were 
both sorry and angry. 

The children had not any more halfpence ; 
they could not buy any more cherries ; and the 
old woman said she could not give them any. 

As they went away sorrowfully, they said, 

* Owen is so ill-tempered, that we will not 
play with him, nor speak to him, nor have 
any thing to do with him.’ 

Owen thought that he could make himself 
happy without his companions ; and he told 
them so. But he soon found himself mistaken. 

When they arrived at the schoolhouse, 
their dame was sitting in the thatched porch 
before her own door, reading a paper that was 
printed in large letters — ‘ My dears,’ said she 
to her little scholars, ‘ here is something that 
you will be glad to see ; but say your lessons 
first — One thing at a time — Duty first and 
pleasure afterwards. Whichever of you says 
your lessons best, shall know first what is in 
this paper, and shall have the pleasure of tel- 
ling the good news.’ 

Owen always learned his lessons very well, 
and quickly ; he now said his lesson better 
than any of his companions said theirs ; and 

\ 4 


THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 


47 


he looked round him with joy and triumph ; 
but no eye met his with pleasure ; nobody 
smiled upon him, no one was glad that he had 
succeeded : on the contrary, he heard those 
near him whisper, 1 1 should have been very 
glad if it had been Marianne who had said 
her lesson best, because she is so good-natured.’ 

The printed paper, which Owen read aloud, 
was as follows : 

‘ On Thursday evening next, the gate of the 
cherry orchard will be opened ; and all who 
have tickets will be let in, from six o’clock 
till eight. Price of tickets, six-pence.’ 

The children wished extremely to go to this 
cherry orchard, where they knew they might 
gather as many cherries as they liked, and 
where they thought that they should be very 
happy in sitting down under the trees and eat- 
ing fruit — But none of these children had any 
money ; for they had spent their last half- 
pence in paying for those cherries which they 
never tasted — those cherries which Owen, in 
the fury of his passion, trampled in the dust.* 

The children asked their dame what 
they could do to earn six-pence a piece ; and 
she told them that they might perhaps be able 
to earn this money by plaiting straw for hats, 
which they had all been laugh t to do by 
their good dame. 

Immediately the children desired to set to 
work. 

Owen, who was very eager to go to the 
cherry orchard, was the most anxious to get 


48 


EARLY LESSONS. 


forward with the business : he found, how- 
ever, that nobody liked to work along with 
him ; his companions said, ‘ We are afraid 
that you will quarrel with us ; we are afraid 
that you will fly into a passion about the 
straws, as you did about the cherries ; there- 
fore we will not work with you.’ 

‘ Will not you ? then I will work by my- 
self,’ said Owen ; 1 and I dare say that I shall 
have done my work long before you have any 
of you finished yours ; for I can plait quicker 
and better than any of you.’ 

It was true that Owen could plait quicker 
and better than any of his companions ; but 
he was soon surprised to find that his work 
did not go on so fast as theirs.- 

After they hacUbeen employed all the re- 
mainder of this evening, and all the next day, 
Owen went to his companions, and compared 
his work with theirs. 

1 How is this V said he ; ‘ how comes it that 
you have all done so much, and I have not 
done nearly so much, though I work quicker 
than any one of you, and I have worked as 
hard as I possibly could ? What is the rea- 
son that you have done so much more than 
I have ?’ 

‘ Because we have all been helping one an- 
other, and you have had no one to help you ; 
you have been obliged to do every thing for 
yourself.’ 

‘ But still I do not understand how your 
helping one another can make such a differ- 


THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 


49 


ence,’ said Owen ; 1 I plait faster than any 
of you.’ 

His companions were so busy at their work, 
that they did not listen to what he was saying. 
He stood behind Marianne in a melancholy 
posture, looking at them, and trying to find 
out why they went on so much faster than he 
could. He observed that one picked the out- 
side off the straws ; another cut them to the 
proper length, another sorted and laid them 
in bundles ; another flattened them ; another 
(the youngest of the little girls, who was not 
able to do anything else,) held the straws 
ready for those who were plaiting ; another 
cut off the rough ends of the straws when the 
plaits were finished ; another ironed the plaits 
with a hot smoothing iron ; others sewed the 
plaits together. Each did what he could do 
best and quickest ; and none of them lost any 
time in going from one work to another, or in 
looking for what they wanted. 

On the contrary, Owen had lost a great deal 
of time in looking for all the things that he 
wanted ; he had nobody to hold the straws 
ready for him as he plaited ; therefore he was 
forced to go for them himself, every time he 
wanted them ; ,and his straws were not sort- 
ed in nice bundles for him ; the wind blew 
them about ; and he wasted half an hour at 
least in running after them. Besides this, he 
had no friend to cut off the rough ends for 
him ; nor had he any one to sew the plaits 
5 


50 


EARLY LESSONS. 


together ; and, though he couid plait quick- 
ly, he could not sew quickly ; for he 
was not used to this kind of work. He wish- 
ed extremely for Marianne to do it for him. 
He was once a full quarter of an hour in 
threading his needle, of which the eye was 
too small. Then he spent another quarter of 
an hour in looking for one with a larger eye ; 
and he could not find it at last, and nobody 
would lend him another. When he had done 
sewing, he found that his hand was out for 
‘plaiting ; that is, he could not plait so quick- 
ly after his fingers had just been used to an- 
other kind of work ; and, when he had been 
smoothing the straws with a heavy iron his 
hand trembled afterwards for some minutes, 
during which time he was forced to he idle : 
thus it was that he lost time by doing every 
thing for himself ; and though he lost but a 
few minutes or seconds in each particular, yet 
when all these minutes and seconds were ad- 
ded together, they made a great difference. 

£ How fast, how very fast, they go on ! and 
how merrily !’ said Owen, as he looked at his 
former companions. ‘ I am sure I shall never 
earn sixpence for myself before Thursday ; 
and I shall not be able to go to the cherry- 
orchard. I am very sorry that I trampled on 
your cherries ; I am very sorry I was so ill- 
humored ; I will never he cross any more.’ 

‘ He is very sorry that he was so ill-humor- 
ed ; he is very sorry that he trampled on our 
cherries,’ cried Marianne ; 1 do you hear 


THE CHERRY ORCHARD. 


51 


what he says? he will never be cross any 
more.’ 

£ Yes, we hear what he says,’ answered 
Cymon ; 1 hut how are we to be sure that he 
will do as he says?’ 

1 O,’ cried another of his companions, £ he 
has found out at last that he must do as he 
would be done by.’ 

1 Aye,’ said another ; £ and he finds that 
we who are good-humored and good-natured 
to one another, do better even than he, who 
is so quick and so clever.’ 

£ But if, besides being so quick and so clev- 
er, he was good-humored and good-natured,’ 
said Marianne, £ he would be of great use to us; 
he plaits a vast deal faster than Mary does, 
and Mary plaits faster than any of us. Come 
let us try him, let him come in amongst us.’ 

£ No, no, no,’ cried many voices ; £ he will 
quarrel with us ; and we have no time for quar- 
relling. We are all so quiet and so happy 
without him ! Let him work by himself, as 
he said he would.’ 

Owen went on, working by himself ; he 
made all the haste that he possibly could : but 
Thursday came, and his work was not nearly 
finished. His companions passed by him with 
their finished work in their hands. Each as 
they passed, said, £ What ! have you not done 
yet, Owen ?’ and then they walked on to the 
table where their dame was sitting, ready to 
pay them their sixpences. 

She measured their work, and examined it; 


52 


EARLY LESSONS. 



and when she saw that it was well done, she 
gave to each of her little workmen and work- 
women the sixpence they had earned, and 
she said, 1 I hope, -my dears, that you will 
be happy this evening/' 

They all looked joyful ; and, as they held 
their sixpences in their hands, they said, 1 If 
we had not helped one another, we should not 
have earned this money ; and we should not 
be able to go to the cherry orchard.’ 

‘ Poor Owen !’ whispered Marianne to her 
companions, ‘ look how melancholy he is sit- 
sing there alone at his work ! — See, his hands 
tremble, so that lie can hardly hold the 
straws ; he will not nearly finish his work in 
time : he cannot go with us.’ 


THE ORANGE MAN. 


53 


* He should not have trampled on our cher- 
ries ; and then perhaps we might have help- 
ed him,’ said Cymon. 

1 Let us help him though he did trample on 
our cherries , 5 said the good-natured Marianne 
— ‘ He is sorry for what he did, and he will 
never be so ill-humored or ill-natured again. 
Come, let us go and help him. If we all help, 
we shall have his work finished in time, and 
then we shall all be happy together . 5 

As Marianne spoke, she drew Cymon near 
to the corner where Owen was sitting ; and 
all her companions followed. 

1 Before we offer to help him, let us try 
whether he is now inclined to be good-hu- 
mored and good-natured . 5 

‘ Yes, yes, let us try that first , 5 said his 
companions. 

‘ Owen, you will not be done time enough 
to go with us , 5 said Cymon. 

‘ No, indeed , 5 said Owen, 1 I shall not ; 
therefore I may as well give up all thoughts 
of it. It is my own fault, I know . 5 

‘ Well, but as you cannot go yourself, you 
will not want your pretty little basket ; will 
you lend it to us to hold our cherries V 

1 Yes, I will with pleasure , 5 cried Owen, 
jumping up to fetch it. 

1 Now he is good-nature^, I am sure , 5 said 
Marianne. 

£ This plaiting of yours is not nearly so 
well done as ours , 5 said Cymon ; 1 look, how 
uneven it is . 5 


54 


EARLY LESSONS. 


1 Yes, it is rather uneven, indeed,’ replied 
Owen. 

Cymon' began to untwist some of Owen’s 
work ; and Owen bore this trial of his pa- 
tience with good temper.’ 

1 O, you are pulling it all to pieces, Cy- 
mon !’ said Marianne ; ‘ this is not fair.’ 

‘ Yes, it is fair,’ said Cymon ; ‘for I have 
undone only an inch ; and I will do as many 
inches for Owen as he pleases, now that I see 
he is good-humored.’ 

Marianne immediately sat down to work 
for Owen ; and Cymon and all his compan- 
ions followed her example. It was now two 
hours before the time when the cherry-or- 
chard was to be opened ; and, during these 
two hours, they went on so expeditiously, 
that they completed the work. 

Owen went with them to the cherry-or- 
chard, where they spent the evening all to-* 
gether very happily. As he was sitting under 
a tree with his companions, eating the ripe 
cherries, he said to them , — 1 Thank you all, 
for helping me : I should not have been here 
now eating these ripe cherries, if you had not 
been so good-natured to me. I hope I shall 
never be cross to any of you again : whenev- - 
er I feel inclined to be cross, I will think ot 
your good-nature* to me, and of the cherry- 
orchard.’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


PART I. 

Little children, who know the sounds of all 
letters, can read words, and can understand 
what is told in this book. 

Harry was brother to Lucy, and Lucy was 
sister to Harry. Harry had just come home 
to his father’s house : he had been left at his 
uncle’s, when he was an infant, and had al- 
ways lived at his uncle’s house. 

Lucy lay in a little bed in a closet near 
her mother’s room ; and Harry lay in a little 
bed in another closet. 


Early in the morning, whilst Lucy was in 
bed, the sun shone through the window and 
awakened her ; when she was quite awake, 
she knew it was morning, because it was 
daylight ; and she called to her mother, and 
said, ‘ Mamma, may I get up V But her 
mother did not answer her, for she did not 
hear what she said, because she was asleep. 
When Lucy knew that her mother was asleep, 
she lay still, that she might not disturb her, 


56 


EARLY LESSONS. 


until she heard her mother stir ; and then 
she asked her again if she might get up ; and 
her mother said she might. 


So Lucy got up, and put on her stockings 
and shoes, and finished dressing herself, and 
then went to her mother, and asked for some 
breakfast. But her mother told her, that she 
must make her bed, before she could have any 
breakfast. Little Lucy began to make her 
bed, and her mother went into another closet 
to awaken Harry ; and she said, Harry ! get 
up ! And Harry jumped out of bed in an in- 
stant, and put on his trousers, and his jacket, 
and his shoes ; and then he combed his hair, 
and washed his hands ; and whilst he was 
wiping his hands his mother went down stairs. 

Little Lucy, hearing her brother Harry 
walking about in his closet, called him, and 
asked, if he had made his bed. Harry said 
he had not. O ! then, says Lucy, mamma 
will give you no breakfast. Yes, says Harry, 
she will : I never made my bed at my un- 
cle’s, and I always had my breakfast. 

As they were talking, he heard his father 
call him, and he ran down stairs to the par- 
lor, where his father and mother were at 
breakfast ; and her mother called Lucy down 
too, and said to her, Well, Lucy ! have you 
made your bed neatly ? 

Lucy . Yes, mother, I have made it as well 
as I could. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


57 


Mother. You shall have some breakfast then. 

His father asked Harry if he had made his 
bed. Harry answered that he did not know 
how to make it. I will show you, said his 
mother ; and taking him by the hand, she 
led him up stairs, and showed him how to 
make his bed. 

When Harry camo down to his father, he 
said that he did not know, that boys or men 
ever made beds ; for at his uncle’s, nobody 
ever made beds but the housemaid. 

His father told him, that, in some countries, 
the bbds are made by men ; and that in 
ships, which sail on the sea, and carry men 
from one country to another, the beds in which 
the sailors sleep are always made by men. 

Lucy’s mother observed that she had break- 
fast, and asked her why she had not eaten it. 

Lucy said that she waited for her brother. 
Her mother then gave Harry a basin of milk, 
and a large piece of bread ; and she set a lit- 
tle table for him and his sister, under a shady 
tree, that was opposite to the open window 
of the room where she breakfasted'. 

Lucy was a good little girl, and had al- 
ways minded what was said to her, and had 
been very attentive whenever her father or mo- 
ther had taught her anything. So her mother 
had taught her to read and to work, and when 
she was six years old she could employ her- 
self without being troublesome to any body : 
she could work for herself, and for her brother, 
and sometimes, when Lucy behaved very 


58 


EARLY LESSONS. 


well, her mother let her do a little work for 
her, or for her father ; and her mother had 
given her a little thimble, to put upon her 
finger, and a little housewife, to keep her nee- 
dles and thread in, and a little pair of scissors 
to cut her thread with, and a little work-bag 
to keep her work in ; and Lucy’s father had 
given her a little book, to read in, whenever 
she pleased, and she could read in it by her- 
self, and understand all she read, and learn 
every thing that was in it. 


As soon as Lucy had eaten the breakfast 
which her her mother had given her, she sat 
down on her stool, and took her work out of 
her work-bag and worked some time ; then 
her mother told her, that she had worked an 
hour, and that she did not choose that she 
should work any longer ; so Lucy got up and 
brought her work to her mother, and asked 
her, if it was done as it ought to be done. 

And her mother said, Lucy, it is done pret- 
ty well for a little girl that is but six years 
old, and I am pleased to see that you have 
tried to avoid the fault, which I told you of 
yesterday : then Lucy’s mother kissed her, 
and said to her, put your work into your 
work-bag, and put your work-bag into its 
place, and then come back to me 


Lucy did as she was desired to do ; and 
then her mother asked her, if she would rath- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


59 


ex go out of doors and walk, or stay with 
her. Lucy liked best to stay with her mother, 
who very soon afterwards went to her dairy. 

Lucy followed her, and took a great deal 
of care not to be troublesome, for she loved to 
be with her mother ; but she observed what- 
ever she saw, and did not meddle with 
any thing. She saw that the dairy was 
very clean ; the floor was a little damp, 
which made her think, that it had been 
washed that morning, and there were not 
any cobwebs nor dust upon the walls ; 
and she perceived that the room smelt very 
sweet : she looked about, to find out if there 
were any flowers that could make that pleas- 
ant smell, but she could not see any thing, 
but a great many clean empty vessels of dif- 
ferent shapes, and a great many round, wide, 
and shallow pans full of milk : she went near 
to them, and thought the smell came from 
them. 

When she had looked at a good many of 
them, she thought they were not all alike ; 
the milk in some ojf the pans-was a little yel- 
lowish, and looked thick, like the cream that 
she saw every morning at her mother’s break- 
fast ; and the milk, in the other pans, was a 
little blue, and looked thin, like the milk 
that was often given to her and her brother 
to drink. Whilst Lucy was thinking on this, 
she saw one of her mother’s maids.- go to one 
of the pans, that had the yellowish milk in it, 
and the maid had a wooden saucer in her 


60 


EARLY LESSONS. 


hand, and she put the wooden saucer very gen- 
tly into the pan ; she did not put it down to the 
bottom of the pan, but took up that part of the 
milk, which was at the top, and put it into an- 
other vessel, and then Lucy saw that the 
milk, that was left in the pan, was not at all 
like what the maid had taken out, but was 
very thin, and a little blue. 

When Lucy’s mother went out of the dai- 
*ry, she took her little daughter out into the 
fields to walk with her. Soon after they set 
out, Lucy said, Mother, when I was in your 
dairy just now, I saw the maid take some 
milk out of a milk pan, and it looked like 
what I see you put into your tea, and I bee 
lieve it is called cream ; but she left some 
milk in the pan, that was not at all like cream, 
but like very thin milk : pray, mother, will 
you tell me, why all that was in the pan was 
not cream ? Then her mother said, Yes, Lu- 
cy, I will answer any questions, you like to 
ask me, when I have leisure, because, whenev- 
er I talk to you, you mind what I say, and re- 
member whatever your father or I teach you. 

I believe you know, that the kind of milk, 
which I give you very often for your break- 
fast and supper, is taken out of the udders of 
cows : did you never see the maids, with 
milk-pails going a milking ? They were then 
going to take the milk from my cows ; they 
call that milking them, and it is done twice ev- 
ery day, once in the morning and once in tho 
evening. When they have gotten, milk in the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


61 


pails, they carry it into the dairy, and put it 
into such milk-pans as you saw, and they let 
the milk-pans stand still, in the same place, 
for several hours, that the milk may not be 
shaken ; and in that time the heaviest part of 
the milk falls as low as it can, towards the 
bottom of the pan, and the lightest part of the 
milk remains above it at the top of the pan, 
and that thick light part is called cream, as 
you thought it was. When the milk has 
stood long enough, the cream is taken from 
the other part of the milk, and doing this, is 
called skimming the milk, but it must be done 
very carefully, or else the cream and milk 
will all be mixed together again. Lucy told 
her mother, that, when she was in the dairy, 
she had walked all round it, and that she saw 
a great deal of cream ; more, she thought, 
than came every day into the parlor : and she 
wished to know, what other use it was for, ex- 
cept to mix with tea, and fruit, or sweetmeats. 

Lucy’s mother was going to answer her, but 
she looked towards the other side of the field, 
and said, Lucy, I think I see some pretty 
flowers there, will you run and gather me a 
nosegay, before I talk any more to you ? Lu- 
cy said, Yes, mother ; and ran away to get 
what her mother had desired ; when she came 
to the place, where the flowers were, she look- 
ed about for the prettiest, and gathered two 
or three of them, but, when she had them in 
her hand, she perceived, they had not any 
smell ; so she went to a great many more, 


0 


62 


EARLY LESSONS. 


and at last she found some, that had a sweet 
smell ; but they were not pretty, and she ga- 
thered some of them, and was taking them to 
her mother ; but as she passed n^ar the hedge, 
she saw some honey-suckles growing in it, 
and she remembered that she had smelt honey- 
suckles that were very sweet, and they were 
pretty too 3 so she was glad that she had found 
some, for she thought her mother would like 
them ; but when she came close to the hedge, 
she saw that they were so' high from the 
ground that she could not reach them. Lucy 
did not like to go away, without taking some 
honey-suckles to her mother, so she walked 
slowly by the side of the hedge, till she came 
to a place, where there was a large stone, up- 
on which she climbed, and gathered as many 
honey-suckles as she liked. 


Whilst she was getting down, she held the 
flowers fast, for fear she should drop them into 
the ditch, and she felt something prick her 
finger very sharply; she looked, and she saw a 
bee drop down off one of the honey-suckles, that 
she had squeezed in her hand ; so she thought, 
that she had hurt the bee, and that - the bee 
had stung her, to make her let him go, and 
that- it was the bee, that she had felt pricking 
her. Lucy was afraid that she had hurt the 
bee very much, for she remembered, that, 
when she opened her hands, the bee did not 
fly away, but dropt down ; so she looked for 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


63 


it on the ground, and she soon found it strug- 
gling in some water, and trying with its little 
legs and wings to get out, hut it was not 
strong enough. Lucy was very sorry for the 
bee ; but shd was afraid to touch it, lest she 
should hurt it again, or that it should hurt 
her. She thought for a little while what she 
could do, and -then she got a large stalk of a 
flower, and put it close to the bee : as soon 
as ever the bee felt it, he clasped his legs 
round it, and Lucy raised the stalk with the 
bee upon it, gently from the wet ground, and 
laid it upon a large flower that was near her. 
The bee was sadly covered with dirt, but, as 
soon as he felt that he was standing upon his 
legs again, he began to stretch his wings and 
to clean himself, and to buz a little upon the 
flower. Lucy was glad to see that the bee 
did not seem to be very much hurt, and she 
took up her nosegay and ran as fast as she 
could towards her mother ; but the finger, 
that the bee had stung, began to be very sore. 


She met her , mother coming to her, who 
wondered what had made her stay so long ; 
and when Lucy had told her what had hap- 
pened, she said, I thank you, my dear, for 
getting me so sweet a nosegay, and I am very 
sorry you have been hurt in doing it ; I am 
sure you did not intend to hurt the poor little 
bee, and will walk home now, and I will put 
some hartshorn to your finger, which will les- 


64 


EARLY LESSONS. 


sen the pain you feel. Lucy said, Indeed, 
mother, I did not mean to hurt the bee, for I 
did not know that it was in my hand ; but, 
when 1 am going to gather flowers another 
time, I will look to see if there are any bees 
upon them. 

When Lucy’s mother got home, some harts- 
horn was put to Lucy’s finger, and soon after 
it grew easier, and Lucy’s mother said to her, 
Now I am going to be busy, and if you like 
it you may go into the garden, till dressing 
time : Lucy thanked her, and said, she did 
like it, but she hoped, that some time, when 
she was not busy, her mother would answer 
what she had asked about cream. 


After breakfast, Harry’s father took him 
out a walking ; and they came to a field, 
where several men were at work ; some were 
digging clay out of a pit, in the ground ; 
some were wetting what was dug out, with 
water, and others were making the clay into 
a great number of pieces, of the same size 
and shape. Harry asked his father, what the 
men were about, and he told him, that they 
were making bricks for building houses. 
Yes, says Harry, but I can run my finger 
into these ; they are quite soft and brown, 
and the bricks of your house are red and 
hard ; and they don’t stick together as the 
bricks of your house do ; saying this, he 
pushed down a whole stack of bricks. The 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


65 



man who was making them called out, to de- 
sire he would pay for those he had spoiled : 
little Harry had no money, and did not know 
what to do ; but said to the man, indeed, sir, 
I did not intend to do any harm : the man 
answered, whether you intended it or not, you 
have spoiled the bricks, and must pay me for 
them ; I am a poor man, and buy all the 
bread that I have, with the money which I 
get for these bricks, and I shall have less 
bread, if I have a smaller number of bricks 
to sell. 

Poor Harry was very sorry for what he had 
6 


66 


EARLY LESSONS. 


he had done, and at last thought of asking 
his father to pay for them : but his father 
said, I have not spoiled them, and therefore 
it is not necessary that I should pay for them. 
The man, seeing that Harry had not intended 
to do mischief, told him if he would promise 
to make amends at some future time, for 
the mischief which he had done, he would 
be satisfied. Harry promised he would. 
Now you find, Harry, said his father, that 
you must not meddle with what does not be- 
long to you. 


As they walked on farther, they came to a 
blacksmith’s shop, and, as it began to rain, 
Harry’s father stood under the shed, before 
the door ; and a farmer came riding to the 
shop, and asked the blacksmith to put a shoe 
upon his horse, which he said had lost one a 
little way off, and which would be lamed, if 
he went over any stony road without a shoe. 
Sir, says the blacksmith, I cannot shoe your 
horse, as I have not iron enough ; I have sent 
for some to the next town, and the person, 
whom I sent, cannot be back before evening. 

Perhaps, said the farmer, you have an old 
shoe, that may be made to fit my horse. 

The smith had no iron, except a bit of small 
nail rod which was fit only for making nails ; 
but he said, that, if the farmer looked on the 
road, perhaps he might find the shoe, which 
had fallen from hi s horse. Little Harry, hear- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


67 


ing what had passed, told his father, that he 
thought he could find a shoe for the farmer’s 
ahorse. His father asked him, where he 
thought he could find a shoe ? 


He said that he had observed something as 
they walked along the road, lying in the dirt, 
which he thought was like a horse-shoe. His 
father begged that the farmer would wait a 
little while ; and then he walked back with 
Harry on the road by which they came to the 
blacksmith’s; and Harry looked very carefully, 
and after some time he found the horse-shoe, 
and brought it back to the blacksmith’s shop; 
but it was not fit to be put again upon the 
horse’s foot, as it had been bent by a wagon 
wheel, which had gone over it. 

The farmer thanked Harry, and the black- 
smith said that he wished every little boy 
was as attentive and as useful. He now be- 
gan to blow his large bellows, which made a 
roaring noise, and the wind came out of the 
pipe of the bellows among the coals upon the 
hearth, and the coals became red, and by de- 
grees they became brighter and brighter, as 
the fire became hotter ; and the smith put 
the old iron horse-shoe into the fire, and after 
some time it became red and hot like the 
coals ; and when the smith thought the iron 
was hot enough, he took it out of the fire with 
a pair of tongs, and put it upon the anvil, and 
struck it with a heavy hammer. Harry saw 


68 


EARLY LESSONS. 


that the iron became soft by being made red 
hot ; and he saw that the smith could ham- 
mer it into whatever shape he pleased. 


When the smith had made the shoe of a 
proper size and shape, he took a piece of nail- 
rod, and heated it red-hot in the fire, by the 
help of the large bellows, which he blew with 
his right hand, whilst he held the tongs in his 
left. 

Harry was going to examine the horse-shoe 
that the smith had just made, but he would not 
meddle with it without leave, as he recollect- 
ed what had happened in the brick-field. 

Whilst he was looking at the shoe, another 
little boy came into the shop, and, after loun- 
ging about for some time, he stooped down 
and took up the horse-shoe in his hand ; but 
he suddenly let it drop, and roared out vio- 
lently, and said that he was burned. Whilst 
he was crying, and blowing his fingers, and 
squeezing and pinching them, to lessen the 
pain, the smith turned him out of the shop, 
and told him, that, if he had not meddled 
with what did not belong to him, he would 
not have been hurt. The little boy went a- 
way whimpering, and muttering, that he did 
not know that black iron would burn him. 


The smith now took the nail rod out of the 
fire, and it was hotter than the other iron, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


69 


and it was of a glowing white color ; and 
when the smith struck it upon the anvil, a 
plumber of bright sparks were struck off the 
r iron, on every side, about the shop : they 
appeared very beautiful. 

The smith then made some nails, and began 
to fasten the shoe on the horse’s foot with 
nails. Harry, who had never before seen a 
horse shod, was much surprised that the 
horse did not seem to be hurt by the nails 
which were driven into his foot ; for the 
horse did not draw away his foot ; nor show 
any signs of feeling pain. Harry’s father ask- 
ed him if he had ever had his nails cut ? 

Harry said he had. 

Father. Did cutting your nails hurt you ? 

Harry. No. 

Father. A horse’s hoof is of horn, like your 
nails, and that part of it, that has no flesh fas- 
tened to it, does not feel pain : the outside of 
the hoof may be cut, and may have nails 
driven into it, without giving any pain to 
the horse. 

The blacksmith, who was paring the horse’s 
foot, gave a piece of the horn, that he had cut 
off, to Harry, who perceived that it was nei- 
ther so hard as bone, nor so soft as flesh ; 
and the blacksmith told him that the hoof of 
a horse grows in the same manner as the 
nails of a man, and requires, like them, to be 
sometimes pared. 

And when the blacksmith had finished 
shoeing the horse, he showed Harry the hoof 


70 


EARLY LESSONS. 


of a dead horse, that was separate from the 
foot, and Harry saw how thick it was in that 
part, where the nails were to be driven. 


Harry’s father now told him, that it was 
time to go home, as they had two miles to 
walk, and it wanted but an hour to dinner- 
time. Harry asked his father, how much 
time it would take up to walk two miles, if 
they walked as fast as they commonly did, 
and his, father showed him his watch, and 
told him he might see, when they got home, 
how long they had been returning. Harry 
saw that it was four minutes after two o’clock, 
and, when they got home, it was forty-eight 
minutes after two ; so Harry counted, and 
found out how many minutes had passed 
from the time they left the blacksmith’s until 
they got home. 


When Harry came into the garden, he ran 
to his sister Lucy, to tell her all that had r 
happened to him, and she left what she was 
about, and ran to meet him. She thought he 
had been away a great while, and was very 
glad to see him : but just then the bell, rang, 
and they knew they must go in directly to 
make themselves clean before dinner. 

When dinner was over, Harry and Lucy 
were let go into the garden, and Lucy then 
begged her brother, to tell her all that had 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


71 


happened, whilst he was out in the morning. 
Harry then told her, how he had spoiled the 
bricks, and what the brickmaker had said to 
him ; and he. told her, that he had promised 
to make amends for the mischief which he 
had done. 

He told her, that to make bricks men dug 
clay, and beat it with a spade, and mixed it 
with water, to make it soft and sticky, and 
that then they made it into the shape of 
bricks, and left it to dry ; and, when it was 
hard enough to be carried without breaking, 
it was put into large heaps and burned, so as 
to become of a reddish yellow color, and al- 
most as hard as a stone. 


Then, brother, says Lucy, if you will make 
some bricks, we can build a house in the little 
garden mother has lent me. So they went to 
the little garden, and Harry dug some earth 
with a little spade, which his father had giv- 
en him, and endeavored to make it stick to- 
gether with some water, but he could not 
make it stick, like the clay, that he saw 
the brickmakers use ; and he ran in, and 
asked his father why he could not make it 
stick with water. And his father asked him, 
whether it was the same kind of earth that 
he saw in the brick-field. And Harry said, 
that he did not know what his father meant 
by the same kind of earth ; he saw a man 
dig earth, and dig it in the same manner. 


72 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Father. But is the earth in the garden of 
the same colour as that in the brick-field ? 

Harry. No : that in the garden is almost 
black ; that in the fi£ld is yellow. 

Father. Then they are not the same kinds 
of earth. 

Harry. I thought all earth was alike. 

Father. You find that it is not ; for you 
see, that all earth cannot be made to stick to- 
gether with water. 


Harry went back to the garden, and, after 
having looked in a great many places for yel- 
low earth, at last he saw some in the bottom 
of a hole, that had been dug some time be- 
fore ; and he ran back, and asked his father’s 
leave to dig some of it ; and, after he had got- 
ten leave, he dug some of the yellow clay, 
and found that, when it was mixed with wa- 
ter, it became very sticky and tough, and 
that, the more it was mixed, and squeezed, 
and beaten with the spade, the tougher it be- 
came. He now endeavored to make it into 
the shape of bricks ; but he found that he 
could not do it : and Lucy asked him wheth- 
er the brickmakers were as long making a 
brick as he was. c No,’ said he ; ‘ they have a 
little box made in the shape of a brick, with- 
out top or bottom, into which they put the 
clay upon a table, and with a straight stick, 
like a ruler, they scrape the clay even with 
the top of the box, and then lifting up the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


73 


bo*, they find the clay in the shape of a brick 
upon the table.’ 1 Harry, says Lucy, there is 
a carpenter in the house, at work for my 
mother ; I will go and ask her, to get a box 
made for you : do you know by what name 
such a box is called, brother V 1 It is called a 
mould.’ 


Lucy’s mother let the carpenter make a 
brickmaker’s mould for Harry ; but the man 
could not begin until he knew what size it 
should be : how many inches long, how ma- 
ny inches thick it should be. Harry did not 
know what the carpenter meant : but Lucy, 
having always lived with her mother, who 
had been very kind to her, and who had 
taught her a great many things, knew what 
the carpenter meant : and, as she wished to 
have bricks of the size of those, with which 
her father’s house was built, she went and 
measured some of the bricks in the wall, and 
finding that a great number of them were of 
the same length, she said to her brother, that 
she supposed they were all alike. Harry told 
her, that, as the brickmakers used but one 
mould, whilst he saw them at work, he sup- 
posed that they made a great number of bricks 
of the same size, and that the wall would not 
look so regular as it did, if the bricks were ot 
different sizes. 

Lucy therefore thought, if she could meas- 


74 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ure one brick, it would be sufficient. She ea- 
sily found the length and the depth of a brick 
in the wall, but she did not at first know how 
to find the breadth, as the bricks lying upon 
each other, prevented her from seeing their 
breadth ; but Harry showed her at the cor- 
ner of the wall that the breadth of the bricks 
could be seen ; she measured carefully, and 
found the length to be nine inches, the breadth 
four inches, and the depth two inches and a 
quarter. So the carpenter, when he knew 
the dimensions of the mould, made it, and 
Harry placed a flat stone upon two large 
stones, to serve for a table, and he and Lucy 
made several bricks : but they were a long 
time before they could make them tolerably 
smooth, as they stuck to the mould, unless 
the mould was wetted. They were very hap- 
py making their bricks, but they did not know 
how they should burn them, so as to make 
them hard, but they were determined to try. 

It was eight o’clock in the evening, before 
they had finished ten bricks, and they were 
called in, and their mother gave them some 
bread and milk for their supper, and sent 
them to bed. 4 

The next morning Harry and Lucy got up 
as they did before ; and their father and 
mother gave them leave to go and look at the 
bricks they had made ; and Harry felt that 
they were a little harder than they were the 
night before ; and Lucy thought that burning 
them would make them softer ; for she had 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


75 


seen butter, wax, pomatum, and sealing-wax, 
all made soft by heat, but she did not remem- 
ber seeing anything made hard by heat. But 
Harry put her in mind of the crust of pies, 
which is soft and tough, like clay, before it is 
baked, and which grows hard and brittle by 
the heat of the oven : and he told her that 
the iron, of which the blacksmith made the 
horse’s shoe, when he blew the bellows, was 
hard and black, before it was put into the 
fire, but that it became red, when it was suf- 
ficiently heated, and so soft, that the smith 
could hammer it into what shape he 
pleased. 

Lucy believed what her brother said, but 
was resolved to beg, that her mother would 
take her to see red-hot iron, and a brick-kiln, 
which Harry told her was the name of the 
place in which bricks were burnt. 


Whilst they were eating the breakfast, 
which their mother gave them, Harry asked 
his sister, what she had been doing the day 
before, when he was out with his father ; and 
Lucy told^him all she had seen in the dairy, 
and when'she was out walking. When they 
had done breakfast, his mother lent Harry 
one of Mrs. Barbauld’s little books for chil- 
dren, and let him read the story of the poor 
blind fiddler, with which Harry was very 
much pleased ; and then she let Lucy read 
the following story. 


76 


EARLY LESSONS. 



A man, riding near the town of Reading, 
saw a little chimney-sweeper lying in the 
dirt, who seemed to be in great pain, and he 
asked him, what was the matter ; and the 
chimney-sweeper said, that he had fallen 
down, and broken his arm, and hurt his leg, 
so that he was not able to walk • and the 
man, who was very good-natured, got off his 
horse, and put the chimney-sweeper upon it, 
and walked beside the horse, and held the 
boy on till he came to Reading ; and when 
he came to Reading, he put the boy under 
the care of an old woman, whom he knew 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


77 


there, and he paid a surgeon for setting his 
arm, and gave the woman money, for the 
trouble which she would have in taking care 
of the boy, and the expense which she would 
be at in feeding him, till he should be able to 
work again, to earn money for himself ; and 
then' the man continued his journey till he 
got to his own home, which was at a great 
distance. The boy soon got well, and earn- 
ed his bread by sweeping chimneys at 
Reading. 

Several years after that time, this same good- 
natured man was riding through Reading, and 
his horse took fright upon a bridge, and jumped 
with the man upon his back into the water ; 
the man could not swim, and the people who 
were on the bridge and saw him tumble in, 
were afraid to jump into the water, to pull 
him out : but, just as he was ready to sink, 
a chimney-sweeper, who was going by, saw 
him, and, without stopping a moment, threw 
himself into the river, and seizing hold of 
him, dragged him out of the water, and sa- 
ved him from being drowned : and when 
the man was safe upon the bank, and was 
going to thank the man who pulled him out 
of the water, he recollected that it was the 
same chimney-sweeper, whom he had taken 
care of several years before, and who had 
hazarded his own life, to save that of his 
benefactor. 


78 


early lessons. 



When Lucy had done reading, her mother 
asked Harry which he liked best, the man 
who had taken care of the chimney-sweeper, 
whom he did not know, — or the chimney- 
sweeper, who had saved the life of the man 
whom he knew, and who had taken care of 
him when his arm was broken. 

Harry said he liked the chimney-sweeper 
best, because he was grateful, and because 
he ventured his own life, to save that of the 
man who had been kind to him : but Lucy 
said, she liked the other man best, because 
he was humane, and took care of a poor 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


79 


little boy, who had nobody to take care of 
him, and from whom he could never expect 
to receive • any benefit. 

This is the history of Harry and Lucy for 
two days. The next part will be the history 
of another day, when Harry and Lucy were 
a year older. 


[The words in the following Glossary are used in 
the several parts of Harry and Lucy, and little children 
will do well to learn their meaning carefully.] 


GLOSSARY : 


OR, 


DICTIONARY OF WORDS. 


gUiberttaement , 

The author does not pretend, that this glos- 
sary contains full and accurate definitions : 
ne is well aware of the difficulty of such an 
undertaking ; and indeed is fully satisfied, 
that nothing is properly a definition, which 
does not contain a perfect enumeration of all 
the particulars, which relate to the subject in 
question. What he aims^it, is to give a pop- 
ular meaning of the words which he has se- 
lected, and at the same time, to point out the 
necessity of accuracy, and of referring to the 
original root, from which words are derived ; 
but above all, to excite in children an appe- 
tite for knowledge. 

All objects of the senses, about which they 
inquire, should be submitted to the examina- 
tion of children ; their obvious qualities, 
names and parts, should thus be rendered fa- 
miliar to them. This glossary should first be 
read to children, a little at a time ; and it 
should be made a subject' of conversation with 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


81 


them ; afterwards they will read it with more 
pleasure. Young children do not read to 
gratify their curiosity ; their chief pleasure 
from books arises, at first, from success, in 
having conquered the difficulty of reading. 


Abstain. To abstain, not to do a thing that 
one is inclined to do. 

Accept. To receive with pleasure. 

Agility. Activity ; the being able to move 
quickly and with ease ; to run, and jump, 
and dance well. 

Air-pump. A machine for trying experi- 
ments upon air. An air-pump will be de- 
scribed to little people in another place. 

Associate. To join, to connect. Things 
that happen at a time when we feel pleasure 
or pain are remembered together at another 
time. We remember the faces, and dress, 
and voice of those from whom we have receiv- 
ed pleasure : and we remember what we saw 
or heard, at any place, that we liked much, 
or that we disliked ; and we remember things 
merely because they happened on the same 
day, or on the same week. Some people re- 
member things best by thinking of the places, 
and some by thinking of the time when things 
happened ; others, by the pleasure or pain 
they felt at the time when things happened. 

Attention. To be attentive is to think of 
what we are about. 


82 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Attracted. To be attracted by anything is 
to be drawn towards it, as a piece of iron is 
drawn or moved towards a magnet, which is 
placed near it ; or as a light piece of paper 
is made to fly towards a piece of sealing- 
wax, or a bit of amber, or a tube of glass, 
when they are rubbed by the hand, or cer- 
tain other substances. 

My little boy, or girl, when you read' this, 
ask the person who teaches you, to show you 
a magnet, or to let you try these experiments. 

Barometer. Little girls and boys may see 
barometers in many places, but they cannot 
understand them, without taking a great deal 
of pains. 

Behavior. The manner in which people act. 

Belong. What is a person’s own belongs 
to him. 

Blacksmith. A man who makes things of 
iron. 

Blow. To blow is to make air move, and 
when air sieves it is called wind. 

Bottom. The lowest part of a thing. 

Breaches. Gaps or holes made in anything. 

Brittle. Easily broken. 

Button-mould. Some buttons are made of 
metal ; others are made of cloth, or thread 
wound round pieces of wood, or horn, or bone, 
or ivory. These pieces are called moulds. 

Moulds are sometimes solid, and sometimes 
hollow. Silver spoons are formed with a 
hammer upon a solid iron mould. Orna- 
ments of plaster of Paris, or alabaster, and of 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


83 


wax, and of clay, and other materials are 
cast or worked in hollow moulds. Metal 
and plaster statues are cast between a hollow 
and a solid mould. Do you understand that, 
my little pupil ? 

Bubbles are thin hollow globes, filled with 
air. Bubbles, blown from, a tobacco-pipe 
dipped in soap-suds, show beautiful colors, 
when the sun shines on them. Such bubbles 
could not be made with water only, but the 
addition of soap makes a clammy, or sticky 
liquor, that can be spread out by blowing air 
into it. The air in soap-bubbles swells by 
heat, and bursts its covering. 

Buzzed. To buz ; to make a noise like 
that which a fly makes with its wings. 

By degrees. Not all at once. The word 
degree properly means a step ; by degrees, 
step after step. 

Care. To take care of a person is to hin- 
der him from being hurt. 

Clasped. To clasp is to hold fast round 
anything. 

Clean. What is not dusty, sticky, stained, 
greasy, &c. ; and what has not or does not 
look as if it had a disagreeable smell. 

Cobwebs. Nets made by spiders, to catch flies. 

Collected. To collect is to gather together. 

Conduct. People, by thinking whether 
they are going to do right or wrong, can judge 
and determine how they ought to act ; their 
judgment conducts or leads them. Judging 


84 


EARLY LESSONS. 


wisely, and acting accordingly, is good con- 
duct, the contrary is bad conduct. 

Consented. Agreed to what was asked. 

Considerable. A quantity worth consider- 
ing or attending to. 

Conversation. Answering what people ask ; 
listening to what others say ; hearing from 
others what they know, and telling them 
what we. know. 

Compared. To compare is to consider or 
think of things ; to find out in what they 
are like one another, and in what they are 
unlike. 

Correct. To correct is to alter for the better. 

Counted. Looked or felt to know how 
many there were. 

’ Cylinder. What is round like a pencil, or 
a rolling-stone, or a candle. A cylinder may 
be hollow, as that part of the socket of the 
candlestick into which the candle is put. 

Deal. A quantity ; also the name of pine 
boards in England. 

Determined. To determine is to think of, 
and resolve to do a thing. 

Dimensions. The sizes of the different 
parts of any thing. 

Directly. Soon. 

Disappointment. When any thing which 
we expect does not happen, we feel disap- 
pointed. Several words in English begin with 
dis ; this syllable dis sometimes means, dif- 
ferent from ; as in dis-appointment, dis-incli- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


85 


nation, dis-joint, dis-prove ; and it sometimes 
means different ways, as dis-sever, dis-play. 

Distinctly . In a distinct manner. When 
things are separate from one another, we see 
them, and can consider them one by one. 

Diverted . Turned aside. To divert also 
means to amuse, because amusement turns 
aside our thoughts from applying too closely 
to any thing. Di, in divert , and several other 
words, has the same meaning as dis. 

Dry . What is not wet. 

Earned. To earn is to get any thing for 
working for other people. 

Employ. To employ oneself is to do some- 
thing. 

Endeavor. To try to do a thing. 

Entertaining. To entertain is the same as 
to amuse ; it is to give pleasure to the mind, 
by engaging the attention to something that 
is agreeable. 

Entirely. Entire is what is not broken or 
divided ; what is whole : any thing is said 
to be done entirely, when every part of it is 
finished. 

My little pupils will observe, that to ex- 
plain one word, it is necessary to make use 
of others, that are supposed to be understood 
by those, whom we are teaching. Sometimes 
the words which we use are not understood. 
You must then ask the meaning of them 
from your father or mother. 

Exactly. With great care. 

Examining. To examine is to consider 


86 


EARLY LESSONS. 


attentively ; to look at every side and every 
part of any thing ; to consider the truth of 
facts, and to judge of reasons for or against 
any opinion. 

Explain. To explain is to make a person 
understand what he reads, or what is said, 
or what is shown to him. 

Experiment. A trial (see Johnson’s Dic- 
tionary.) The word trial sometimes means 
only a trial in a court of justice. 

Evaporate. To evaporate is to turn some 
fluid into steam. Steam, when it is very hot, 
is not visible. 

Fear. What we feel when we expect some- 
thing will hurt us. 

Feeling. Nobody can be told what feeling 
is : every one knows their own feelings, but 
they cannot tell exactly what others feel. 

Fill. To put as much into a thing, as it can 
hold. 

Floating. To float means not to sink in a 
fluid. 

Fluid. Our little pupils must ask the per- 
sons who teach them, to show them different 
fluids, and to let them touch them. Things 
can sink or float in fluids ; they do not sink 
perceptibly into solids, unless they are very 
sharp or heavy. Fluids fill hollow vessels of 
all shapes ; and they can be poured from one 
vessel into another. Solid , besides meaning 
what is not fluid, means what is firm, or 
steady, or strong : we say a solid founda- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 87 

tion, solid sense, solid timber ; that which is 
not hollow. 

Forge. A place where smiths heat iron, 
and form it into different shapes. 

Form. Shape, figure. 

Former. The first of two things which 
have been mentioned. 

For instance. Here the writer of the book 
wants to explain one thing, by mentioning 
something else that is like it. For example 
has the same meaning as for instance. 

Full as much. Here the word Full means 
Qw e — quite as much. 

Glob o. 9 . There are two sorts of globes, ter- 
restrial an3 celestial : terrestrial globes rep- 
resent the sha Te 0 f the earth, and the situa- 
tion of different countries : celestial globes 
show the situation o£ the stars in the sky. 

Habit. When we have done any thing a 
great many times, it becoiAes easy to do it ; 
there are some things which, from habit, be- 
come so easy to be done, that we do not seem 
to think of them when we are doing them. 
Some habits are good, and some bad • for 
instance, the habit of attending to what vm 
are about, is good ; tricks, on the contrary, 
are bad habits. 

Hacks. Brickmakers build their bricks, be- 
fore they are burned, in long rows, and cover 
them with turf or straw, to protect them from 
the rain, and place them in such a situation, 
as will expose them to the wind and sun, till 


EARLY LESSONS. 


they are sufficiently dry for the Kiln. These 
rows of bricks are called Hacks. 

Happy. People know when they feel hap- 
py or unhappy. Happiness depends upon 
feelings, and feelings cannot he exactly de- 
scribed by words. 

High. What is at a distance from the 
ground. Things are said to be high, when 
compared with things that are lower than 
themselves, tho’ they are low, when compar- 
ed with other things. A boy of five years old 
is high, or tall, when compared with- a child 
of a year old : and the same boy is low wW 
compared with a boy of fifteen. A ta We 1S 
high when compared with a stool, l° w 
when compared with a chest of ck^- wers - 
Honest. A person is h p*^st, who tells 
truth, and who does not P>& G or keep what 
belongs to other people 

Impression. Whe^any thing hard is press- 
ed upon some-tffing that is not elastic, or 
springy, but which is much softer than itself, 
it sinks itfto it, and leaves marks upon it, as a 
seal d^6s upon bees-wax, or upon sealing-wax 
softened by heat. . The marks thus made are 
called impressions, because they are impres- 
sed upon what receives them. Whatever 
makes us attend, leaves a remembrance in 
-the mind, which is called an impression, be- 
cause this remembrance is something like 
the effect made by one body upon another. 
Issued. To issue is to go out of. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


89 


Joined. Put close together ; made to stick 
together. 

Kept. What is not thrown away. 

Kiln. A kind of oven, or furnace, in which 
lime, and bricks, and potter’s ware are burned. 
There are several different kinds of kilns. 

Lamed. Made not able to move without 
pain or difficulty. 

Latter. The last of two things, as the for- 
mer is the first of two things. 

Leave. To have leave is to be let to do 
any thing. 

Lever. A bar of wood or metal, used to 
lift heavy things. When little boys and girls 
grow older, the different forms and uses of 
levers will be explained to them. 

Market. A place where people meet, on 
particular days, to buy and sell ; both the 
place and the day are called the market. Peo- 
ple say, ‘ To-morrow is the market,’ meaning 
the market-day ; or, ‘ This is the market/ 
meaning the market-place. A Fair is a very 
large market, that is held on particular days 
in the year. This is applicable only to England. 

Measured. To measure is to find out the 
size of any thing. 

Mellow. Soft from being ripe. 

Melted, When any thing solid is made fluid 
by heat, it is said to be melted. 

Microscope. My little friends must grow ol- 
der before they can understand a microscope, 
but they may perhaps be let to look at one, 
8 ' 


90 


EARLY LESSONS. 


and see how large the parts of plants appear, 
when seen through the glass of a microscope. 

Minded. To mind is to think of a thing, 
to turn one’s attention, one’s mind to a thing. 

Mistake. To mistake is, to take one thing 
for another ; to mistake the road ; to mistake 
what is said ; to mistake the meaning of any 
thing. Mis, in mistake, means wrong or ill. 

Mixed. To mix is to put things together, 
so as to make them touch in as many of their 
parts as we can. 

Moderate. Without violence. Moderate pro- 
perly means what is done by a measure. A 
moderate quantity : what is usually measured 
or given for any particular purpose. A pint of 
milk is a moderate quantity for one person, but 
a pail full would be an immoderate quantity. 

Neatly. Neat is what is clean, smooth, and 
in order. 

Nosegay. A bundle of flowers. 

Observed. To observe is to mind what 
we see, and hear, and touch. 

Opportunity. Fit place, or fit time. (See 
Dictionary.) 

Orrery. A machine for showing the mo- 
tions of the moon and planets. 

Pay. To give money for any thing. 

Pence. Two half-pence make a penny ; 
pence also means more pennies than one. 

Perceived. To perceive is to observe some 
particular thing. 

Print. To print means properly to make 
an impression. The print of a man’s foot in 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


91 


the sand means the mark or impression of a 
man’s foot in the sand ; the print of a seal 
means its impression. Prints, a kind of pic- 
tures, are impressions upon paper, &c. of lines, 
or figures carved upon copper : these lines 
are filled with ink ; and, when the copper is 
pressed by a machine for that purpose on pa- 
per, on silk or vellum, the ink quits the lines 
in the copper, and sticks to the paper, &c. 
The beautiful prints in Bewick’s history of 
birds and quadrupeds are carved on wood. In 
general, prints are engraved on copper, and are 
therefore called engravings or copper-plates. 

Paddle. A small tool, with which weeds 
are pulled up ; it also means a kind of oar, 
with which boats are moved. 

Pebbles. Small stones that have been roun- 
ded by being rubbed together by the motion 
of a river or the sea. 

Peculiar. What belongs to a particular 
thing, person, place, or nation. 

People. A number of persons. The peo- 
ple means the inhabitants of a country. 

Planted himself. To plant is to put a veg- 
etable into the earth to make it grow ; it some- 
times means to drive one thing firmly into 
another. To plant oneself in a place means, 
to place oneself in such a manner, as to show 
that we mean to stay there some time. 

Pleasure. Pleasure is felt : it cannot be 
described by words. 

Present. At present ; what is doing or pass- 
ing now. Every thing that we think of, or 


92 


EARLY LESSONS. 


that we perceive by any of our senses, must 
be done or must pass at some time. Time 
may be either present, past, or to come. What 
is to come is also called future. When you 
learn grammar, my little friends, you will 
read of the present tense, the past tense, and 
the future tense. Tense means Time. 

Prevent. To hinder a thing from being done. 
To prevent properly means to come before. 

Proceed. To go forward. 

Process. Method of doing a thing. It prop- 
erly means the going forwards of any thing. 
Pro , at the beginning of a word, means /or, 
before , in the place of forward. 

Particles. Small parts. 

Property. What belongs to a person or to a 
thing. ‘ My father’s horse,’ means the horse 
that belongs to my father, or that is my fa- 
ther’s property. There is another meaning of 
the word property : we say, ‘ It is a property 
of lemons to have a sour taste.’ Acidity, or 
sourness, is a property of lemons, and of vin- 
egar, and of sorrel, and of crab apples. £ To 
live longer than other animals without wa- 
ter, is a property of the camel.’ 

Punctuality . Exactness in doing what we 
have intended to do, or what we have said 
we would do. 

Punished. To punish is to be made to feel 
pain for doing what is wrong. 

Purposely. Designedly ; intending to do it. 

Promise. To promise, is to tell a person 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


93 


that we will do something at a future time 
which they wish should be done. People 
may say, that they intend to do a thing, with- 
out promising. When people promise, they 
speak as if they expected that the persons 
who hear them should understand that they 
firmly resolved to do the thing which they 
say, and that others might afterwards, if they 
failed to keep their word, think that they 
were not to be trusted or depended upon. If 
we always speak truth, people must believe 
us : if we do not speak truth always, even 
those who love us best cannot believe us. 

Quantity. Size or number. 

Quarter of the sky. Quarter properly 
means fourth part of any thing : but it some- 
times means not exactly the fourth part, but 
some parts separate from other parts, as, 

‘ The roads are bad in that quarter of the 
country — 1 Go to that quarter of the gar- 
den :’ — 1 He lives in a different quarter of 
the country.’ 

Readily. Easily ; quickly. 

Recollect. To recollect is, to collect again 
from one’s memory. i?e, at the beginning of 
words, sometimes means backwards, and 
sometimes means again, — as, to re-peat, to 
re-turn. 

Repair. To mend ; also to go to a place. 

Revolution. The going round of any thing 
to the place from which it set out. 

Round. What has no corners, or angles, 
is usually called round, though it may not 


94 


EARLY LESSONS. 


be perfectly round. A globe is a figure round 
in all directions. 

Set. To set means to place ; setting of the 
sun means its disappearing in the evening. 
You cannot yet understand what is meant 
by the motion of the earth, which occasions 
sun-rise and sun-set. 

Set on fire. To put fire to any thing, so as 
to make it burn. 

Shadow. My little friends, — hold a book, 
or any thing else, between the candle and a 
wall, or between the sun and a wall, and 
you will see, that what is so held pre- 
vents the light of the candle or of the sun 
from going to or reaching the wall : there- 
fore that part of the wall, from which the 
light of the sun or candle is kept, is dark. If 
any hole is in the thing which you hold 
in your hand, the light will pass through that 
hole to the wall, and the wall will be light in 
that place. On the contrary, if a thread, or 
even a hair, hang at the edge of what you 
hold, that hair will hinder the light from com- 
ing to the wall, and a part of the wall, in the 
shape of that hair or thread, will be dark. 

The shadow you perceive is not a thing ; it 
is only the want of light on some place. 

Shed. A roof, that is held up by posts, or rails, 
instead of walls ; or what appears like a roof. 

Shoes. What are put upon feet, to hinder 
them from being hurt by the ground. 

Shop. A place where people work, or where 
things are sold. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


95 


Soft, What you can press your finger 
into ; what is not hard. 

Solid. Look for the word fluid. 

Soot. Smoke collected in small pieces ; 
condensed steam, or vapor of oil, grease, wax, 
pitch, tar, or turpentine, resin or rosin, and 
of various other substances. You have learn- 
ed the meaning of the word condensed. 

Stamps. Tools of wood, or metal, carved 
with different figures. These stamps are 
pressed upon different substances, to make 
impressions upon them. 

Stalk. That part of a plant upon which 
flowers or fruits grow. 

Steam. Vapor, caused by heat. 

Stem. The trunk of a plant, that which 
rises immediately from the root. 

Stick. A piece of wood ; a small long 
piece of any thing, as a stick of sealing-wax, 
a stick of brimstone. 

Sticky. What will not fall easily from 
your hands, when you attempt to let it go. 

Still. In this place still means continual. 
Sometimes it means to be at rest. 

Store-room. A place where things are laid 
by to be kept safe. Things laid by for 
future use are called stores. 

Stoutly. Strongly ; with courage. 

Straight. What is not bent ; what is e- 
ven, like a ruler. 

Subject. What a person is talking, or 
thinking or writing about. 


96 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Sufficiently. Enough. 

Supposing. To suppose is to imagine that 
a thing has happened, or will happen, though 
perhaps it has not, or may not happen ; as, 
Suppose the house were to tumble down, it 
would break the furniture to pieces. Sup- 
pose that we were to have plum-cake at tea, 
would you give some of your share to your 

sister ? Now, I hope, my young friends, 

that this last supposition will soon be true. 

Stretched. Pulled or drawn to a larger 
size than what it usually is. 

Take notice. To observe ; to pay atten- 
tion to any thing. 

Tallow. The fat of animals. There is a 
tree in America, which produces a substance 
like tallow. 

Taught. To teach is to tell people how to 
do what they do not know how to do. 

Thermometer. An instrument for showing 
the heat of the air, and of other bodies. The 
thermometer, barometer, orrery, and air-pump, 
will entertain young people very much, when 
they have knowledge sufficient to enable 
them to understand their uses, and the 
manner in which they are made. 

Thunder-storm. A storm of thunder : a 
storm generally means violent wind ; it also 
means snow, hail, and thunder. 

Trust. To trust people is to believe, and 
depend upon their truth and honesty. 

Truth. To tell truth is, to tell what we 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


97 


know about any thing without adding to it, 
and without concealing or hiding any thing. 

Turf. That part of the ground that is cov- 
ered with grass. Turf, in some places, means 
a kind of earth, mixt with the roots and leaves 
of decayed vegetables, which is used for firing. 

Udder. A bag under the belly of a cow, 
into which the cow’s milk comes. 

Understand . To know the meaning of 
any thing. 

Useful. What is of advantage ; what con- 
tributes to our comfort, or convenience, or 
pleasure. 

Valuable. What people wish to keep, or 
obtain ; what they like, or love, or what 
can be sold advantageously. 

War. People fight with one another when 
they think themselves injured, or when they 
are angry. When the people of one country 
fight against the people of another country, it 
is called war. 

Wistfully. As if he wished for something. 
Wistfully is a word that is not often used. 


END OF PART I. 


9 . Vi.- 

jji ; J*' > : : W* ii •; 

^nhf b ; 'i. K »'• ; b/>>* I 

,wj? '2 ' . ■ •: . . j‘ * r-J * .’■ -V f 

.*• 1 ;>j > # T3 *' , ' - • • 

' 

. ;>i.- ; -• '■•; '< . 

tv .XV^nvai .v..*v*W nil ftMUJkg/ 

jjv-.. ' w : t I .•'•.V - ■; -: , ■ .. >V’ 



IURRY AND LUCY. 


PART II. 


100 


HARRY AND LUCY. 

PART II. 


After the summer was past, and after the 
autumn and winter were past, another 
spring came. 

Harry and Lucy were now each of them a 
year older. 

And during the year that had passed, they 
were become taller and stronger, and had 
learned a great many things that they did 
not know before. 

They had learned to read fluently ; and 
they were therefore able to entertain them- 
selves a little, during the winter evenings, 
with reading short stories in books, which 
their mother gave them ; and they had learn- 
ed a little arithmetic, and could cast up sums 
in addition, and could subtract. 

And they had each of them a little garden. 
Harry dug the ground when it was necessa- 
ry, and Lucy pulled up weeds, and helped 
to wheel them away in her little wheelbar- 
row ; and assisted in sowing seeds of differ- 
ent sorts, and in planting the roots of flowers. 

In the summer, she and Harry carried wa- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


101 



ter to water the plants and flowers, which they 
had set and sown in the spring. And they 
had not only planted flowers, and sown small 
salad, but Harry had also a crop of peas, and 
a crop of potatoes, in his garden : for his father 
had seen that he was industrious, and for that 
reason he gave him a piece of good ground to 
be added to his garden ; and, as it had been 
grass-ground for some time, it was so hard 
that Harry was not able to dig it. But his 
father had it dug roughly for him, and he had 
a cartload of manure laid upon it. Harry had 
observed very attentively how his father’s la- 


102 


EARLY LESSONS. 


borers had set potatoes ; and in the beginning 
of the month of March he dug his ground 
over again, and* marked it out into ridges, 
with stakes and a line, and spread the manure 
upon the ridges, leaving sufficient space be- 
tween the ridges for the furrows. He then 
cut some potatoes, which his father had given 
him, into small pieces, to plant in the ground 
for sets. He took care to cut them, so that 
each piece should have an eye in it ; that is 
to say, that each piece should have one of 
those little black spots in it, which contain 
the root of the potato ; for, after the piece of 
potato has been some time in the ground, 
it rots away, and the root unfolds, and long 
fibres spread into the earth. 

He scattered these pieces upon the manure, at 
eight or ten inches from each other ; and then 
he dug earth out of the furrows, that lay be- 
tween the ridges, and covered the bits of pota- 
toes and the manure with them, laying earth 
over them both to the depth of three or four 
inches. When he had made any mistake, or 
had not done the work well, his father assist- 
ed him, and showed him how to do it better. 

The rain in the following months, and the 
heat of the sun in the beginning of summer, 
had contributed to the growth of Harry’s 
crop, and in the middle of July he had some 
fine young potatoes fit to eat. 

About this time of the year the weather is 
generally very hot ; and one day as Harry 
and his sister were sitting under the shady 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


103 


tree, which was mentioned in the former chap- 
ter, picking some cowslips for their mother, 
Harry observed that the shadow of the tree 
reached almost round the stem, and he had seen 
in the morning when he was at breakfast, that 
the shadow of the tree fell only on one side 
of it. He asked his father, who was passing by 
the reason of this, and his father took him to 
the door of the house, and desired him to look 
where the sun was ; — and he saw that it was 
opposite the door, and very high in the sky. 
* Take notice, Harry, where you see the sun 
now, and observe where you see it this even- 
ing, when the sun is setting.’ 

Harry said he knew where the sun set — 
that he could not see it from the hall-door ; 
but that he could see it from that end of the 
house, which was at the right hand of the 
hall-door, as you go out. 

Father. Did you ever observe where it 
rises ? 

Harry. Yes ; it rose this morning at the 
other end of the house. 

Father. It did so. — Now do you know 
where are the South, and the North, and the 
East, and the West ? 

Harry. No ; but I believe the side of the 
sky where the sun rises is called the East ? 

Father. It is so ; and the side where it 
sets is called the West. Now you may al- 
ways know the South and the North, wherev- 
er you are, if you know where the sun either 
rises or sets. If you know where it rises, 


104 


EARLY LESSONS, 


stand with your left hand towards that part 
of the sky, and then the part of the sky be- 
fore your face will be the South, and that part 
of the sky behind your back will be the North. 

In the same manner, if you know where 
the sun sets, turn your right hand towards 
that place, and the part of the sky opposite 
to you will be the South. But, Harry, you 
must remember that there are only two days 
in the year, when the sun sets exactly in the 
West, and rises exactly in the East. 

Harry. What days are those, father ? 

Father. It would be of no use to you now to 
know the names of those days ; but, when 
one of them comes, I will let you know it. 
On that day the sun rises exactly at six 
o’clock in the morning, and sets exactly at 
six o’clock in the evening. 

Father, said Harry, I have observed several 
times, that my shadow in the morning and in 
the evening is very long ; but in the middle of 
the day I can scarcely see my shadow. 

Father. You must think about it yourself, 
Harry ; for, if I tell you every thing that you 
want to know, without your taking the trou- 
ble to think, you will not have the habit of 
thinking for yourself ; and without being 
able to think for yourself, you will never 
have good sense. 


The bricks, which Harry and Lucy had 
made the year before, had all been melted 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


105 


away (as the workmen say) by the rain, or 
broken, because they had not been burnt ; 
but Harry had dug some tough yellow clay, 
of a proper sort, in the month of November, 
before the usual frosts of the winter had begun ; 
and Harry mixed it well with his spade, and 
Lucy picked out the little pebbles with a 
small paddle, and the frost made the clay 
mellow , as the workmen call it. And in the 
spring Harry made nearly six hundred bricks, 
and built them into hacks, and covered them 
with turf, which his father had let him pare 
off the surface of the ground. And Harry’s 
father, who had been much pleased with his 
good behavior and industry, came to the tree 
where he was at work, and asked him if he 
would like to go to the brick-field, to see how 
bricks were burnt. Lucy wished much to go 
with them, and she ran and asked her mother 
to let her go ; her mother very cheerfully 
consented, and said she would go along with 
her. 


Whilst Lucy and her mother were getting 
ready to go, Harry ran to his garden, and dug 
some of his fine young potatoes, and put them 
into a basket which he had of his own, and 
returned to the house ; and his father asked 
him what he intended to dp with them. 

Sir, says Harry, last year, when I had spoilt 
the poor man’s bricks, I promised, that I 
would make him amends, and I determined, 


106 


EARLY LESSONS. 



when I set my potatoes, to let him have the 
first of them that were fit to be dug, as I was 
told that early potatoes were more valuable, 
than those that came in later. 

Father. But you will not be able to carry 
such a heavy load so far. 

I will try, said Harry. 

He was able to proceed hut a little way 
with his load without resting. 

What could he do ? 

His father was willing to assist him, as he 
had shown honesty and truth in keeping his 
promise, and good sense in the means, which 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


107 


he had taken to make the brickmaker amends 
for the injury which he had done him. He 
asked a farmer, whom he knew, and who 
was going by with a cart, to take the basket 
into his cart, and to leave it in the brick-field 
which was at the road-side. 


By the time they had reached the brick- 
field, to which they were going, and to which 
there was a pleasant walk through the fields, 
the farmer, who went by the road, had got- 
ten with his cart to the same place. 

Harry thanked him, took up his basket, 
and marched stoutly into the place where the 
brickmaker was at work. 

The man knew him again, and was much 
pleased with Harry’s punctuality. He took 
the potatoes out of the basket, and said that 
they were worth full as much as the bricks, 
that had been spoilt. 

Harry’s father asked the man, to show him 
how he burned his bricks, to make them hard ; 
and the man said, he was just going to set 
fire to a kiln of bricks, and that he might see 
how it was done. 

The kiln was made of the bricks, that were 
to be burned : these bricks were built up one 
upon another, and one beside the other, not 
quite close, but so as to leave a little room on 
every side of each brick ; and, in the middle 
of the kiln, near the bottom, there were large 
holes filled with furze bushes. 


108 


EARLY LESSONS. 



The whole kiln was as large as a large 
room ; and the man went to his house for a 
few lighted coals, and he put them under the 
furze, which took fire and blazed, and the 
smoke came through the openings, that were 
left between the bricks, and the heat of 
the fire came through them also, and heat- 
ed the bricks ; and the man told Har- 
ry’s father, that he should supply the kiln 
with furze and keep the fire strong for six 
days and six nights, and that then the bricks 
would be sufficiently burned. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


109 


Harry now said, that he was afraid, that 
he should not be able to build a kiln' for his 
bricks ; for he was grown wise enough to 
know, that it required time to learn to do 
things, which we have not been used to do. 
And he asked the brickmaker, whether he 
thought he could build his bricks so as to be 
able to burn them. And the man told him, 
that he believed he could not ; but he said, 
that on some holiday he would go to the 
place where Harry’s bricks were, and would 
show him how to build a nice little kiln, if 
Harry’s father would give him leave. 


Harry’s father accepted this good-natured 
offer ; and Harry plainly perceived, that good 
conduct makes friends, and that a poor brick- 
maker may be of use even to persons, who 
are not obliged to work for their bread. 

Whilst they were talking, Lucy was look- 
ing about, and examining every thing in the 
brick-field ; and she observed, that, at the far- 
thest part of the field, some white linen was 
stretched upon the grass to dry ; and she saw 
several bits of black dirt lying upon the linen. 
They did not stick to the linen, but were 
blown about by the wind, as they were very 
light- 

Lucy picked up some of these black things ; 
and when she showed them to her mother, 
her mother told her, that they were bits of 


110 


EARLY LESSONS. 


soot, which had been carried by the wind 
from the brick-kiln. 

But, mother, said Lucy, I don’t see any 
chimney belonging to the brick-kiln ; and 
soot, I believe, is always found in chimneys. 

Mother. No, my dear, soot is smoke cool- 
ed ; and wherever there is smoke, there is 
soot. A great quantity of thick smoke rises 
from a brick-kiln, or, to speak more properly, 
a great quantity of smoke is carried upwards 
by the hot air that rises from a brick-kiln, 
and, when this smoke cools, parts of it stick 
together, and make what we call soot, which 
falls slowly to the ground. This is some of 
it, that has fallen upon the white linen ; and 
you see it because it is black, and the linen, 
upon which it has fallen, is white. 

Lucy. Why does it fall slowly ? 

Mother. Because it is light ; if it were 
heavier, it would fall faster. 

Lucy. What do you mean by light and 
heavy 7 

Mother. You cannot yet understand all 
that I mean by those words ; but, if you take 
two things which are nearly of the same size 
in your hands, and if one of them presses the 
hand, in which it is held, downward, more 
than the other does, that may be called 
heavy, and the other may be called light. 
You must observe, Lucy, that they can be 
called heavy or light only as compared to- 
gether or weighed in your hands ; as, for in- 
stance, if you take a large wafer in one hand, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


Ill 


and a wooden button-mould of the same size 
in the other, the button-mould would be rea- 
dily perceived to be the heaviest ; you would 
therefore say, that the button-mould is heavy, 
and the wafer is light. 

But if you were to take the button-mould 
again in one hand, and take a half-dollar in 
the other, you would call the half-dollar hea- 
vy, and the button-mould light. And if you 
were to laydown the button-mould, and were 
to take a dollar into your hand instead of it, 
you would find the half-dollar would appear 
light, when compared with the dollar. 

Lucy . But, mother, what do you compare 
the soot with, when you say it is light ? 

Mother. I compare it in my mind with 
other things of nearly the same size, as bits of 
saw-dust or bits of gravel ; but I cannot yet 
make you entirely understand what I mean. 
When you have learned the uses and proper- 
ties of more things, and their names, I shall 
be better able to answer the questions you 
have asked me upon subjects, which I cannot 
explain to you now. 


As they returned home, they saw a poor 
little girl crying sadly, and she seemed to be 
very unhappy. And Lucy’s mother said to 
her, — Poor girl ! what is the matter with 
you ? What makes you cry so ? 

O, madam, said the little girl, my mother 
sent me to market with a basket of eggs, and 


112 


EARLY LESSONS. 



1 tumbled down, and the eggs are all broken 
to pieces, and I am very sorrow for it ; for 
my mother trusted them to me, as she thought 
I would take care of them ; and indeed I 
minded what I was about, but a man with a 
sack upon his back was coming by, and he 
pushed me, and made me tumble down. 

Mother. Will your mother be angry with 
you, when she knows it 7 

Little girl. I shall tell my mother, and she 
will not be angry at me ; but she will be very 
sorry, and she will cry, because she is very 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


113 


poor, and she will want the bread, which I 
was to have bought with the money, for 
which I should sell the eggs, and my brothers 
and sisters will have no supper. 

When the little girl had done speaking, she 
sat down again upon the bank, and cried 
very sadly. 

Little Lucy pulled her mother’s gown, to 
make her listen to her, and then she said 
softly, — Mother, may I speak to the poor 
little girl ? 

Mother. Yes, Lucy. 

Lucy. Little girl, I have some eggs at 
home, and I will give them to you, if my 
mother will let me go for them. 

My dear, said Lucy’s mother to her, our 
house is at a distance ; and, if you were to 
try to go back by yourself, you could not find 
the way ; but, if the little girl will come to- 
morrow to my house, you may give her the 
eggs ; she is used to go to market, and knows 
the road. In the mean time, my poor little 
girl, come with me to the baker’s at the top 
of the hill, and I will give you a loaf to carry 
home to your mother : you are a good girl, 
and tell the truth. 

So Lucy’s mother took the little girl to the 
baker’s shop, and bought a loaf, and gave it 
to her ; and the little girl thanked her, and 
put the loaf under her arm, and walked 
homewards, very happy. 


10 


114 


EARLY LESSONS. 


• As he was going over a stile, Harry drop- 
ped his handkerchief out of his pocket, and it 
fell into some water, and was made quite 
wet ; and he was forced to carry it in his 
hand, until they came to a house, where his 
father told him he would ask leave to have 
it dried for him. And he asked the mistress 
of the house to let Harry go to the fire, to dry 
his handkerchief. And while he held it at 
the fire, Lucy said, she saw a great smoke 
go from the handkerchief into the fire, and 
her mother asked her how she knew it was 
smoke ? 

Lucy. Because it looks like smoke. 

Mother. Hold this piece of paper in what 
you think like smoke, and try if you can 
catch any of those black things, that were in 
the smoke you saw in the brick-field. 

Lucy. No, mother, it does not blacken the 
paper in the least, but it wets the paper. 

Mother. Hold this cold plate in what you 
call smoke that comes from the handkerchief. 

Lucy. Mother, I find the plate is wet. 

Mother. What is it then that comes from 
the.handkerchief ? 

Lucy. Water. The water with which it 
was wetted, when it fell into the ditch. 

Mother. What makes the water come out 

of it ? 

Lucy. The heat of the fire, I believe. 

Mother. At tea to-night, put me in mind 
to show you water turned into steam, and 
steam turned into water. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


115 


When they had gotten home, Harry and 
Lucy went immediately, without losing any 
time, to cast up two sums in arithmetic, 
which they were accustomed to do every 
day. 

Harry could cast up sums in common addi- 
tion readily ; and Lucy understood the rule 
called subtraction ; and she knew very well 
what was meant by the words borrowing and 
paying , though it is not easy to understand 
them distinctly. But she had been taught 
carefully by her mother, who was a woman of 
good sense, and who was more desirous that 
her daughter should understand what she did, 
than that she should merely be able to go on 
as she was told to do, without knowing the 
reason of what she was about. 

And after they had shown the sums, which 
they had cast up, to their mother, they sat 
down to draw. 

Lucy was learning to draw the outlines of 
flowers, and she took a great deal of pains, 
and looked attentively at the prints she was 
copying. And she was not in a hurry to have 
done, or to begin another flower ; but she min- 
ded what she was about, and attended to ev- 
ery *hing, that her mother had desired her the 
day before to correct. And after she had copi- 
ed a print of a periwinkle, she attempted to 
draw it from the flower itself ; which she had 
placed in such a manner, as to have the same 
appearance as the print had, that she might be 


116 


EARLY LESSONS. 


able to compare her drawing from the print, 
with her drawing from the flower. 


She found it was not so easy to draw from 
the latter as from the former ; but every time 
that she tried, it became easier. And she was 
wise enough to know, that it was better to be 
able to draw from things themselves, or from 
nature, as it is called, than from other draw- 
ings because every body may every where 
have objects before them, which they may im- 
itate : and by practice they may learn to draw 
or delineate objects so well, as to be able to 
express upon paper, &c. to other people, what- 
ever curious things they meet with. 

The habit of drawing is particularly useful 
to those, who study botany ; and it was her 
love of botany, that made Lucy fond of draw- 
ing flowers. 

She had a number of dried plants, the 
names of which she knew ; and she took 
great pleasure in the Spring, and in the begin- 
ning of Summer, in gathering such plants as 
were in flower, and in discovering, by the 
rules of botany, to what class, order, genus, 
and species they belonged. 

Harry also knew something of botany ; but 
he did not learn to draw flowers. He was 
endeavoring, with great care, to trace a map 
of the fields about his father’s house. He 
had made several attempts, and he had failed 


HARRY AND LUCY. 117 

several times ; but he began again, and every 
time he improved. 

He understood very well the use of a map ; 
he knew that it was a sort of picture of 
ground, by which he could measure the size 
of every yard, or garden, or field, or orchard, 
after it had been drawn upon paper, as well 
as it could be measured upon the ground itself. 
He could also draw a little with a rule and 
compasses ; he could describe a circle, and 
make an equilateral triangle, and a right an- 
gle, and he had begun to learn to write. 

After they had drawn and written for one 
hour, it was time for them to go and dress 
before dinner. 

Harry’s walk to the brick-field had made 
him very hungry, so that he ate heartily. 

Whilst he was eating, his mother told him, 
that she intended to send him into the gar- 
den, after dinner, for some strawberries, that 
were just ripe ; and she advised him not to 
eat so much pudding, if he wished to eat 
strawberries. 

Now Harry had learnt from experience, 
that, if he ate too much, it would make him 
sick ; he therefore prudently determined, not 
to have another spoonful of pudding. 

A little while after dinner, Harry and Lucy 
went with their mother into the garden ; and 
Lucy was desired to gather six strawberries, 
and Harry was desired to gather four straw- 
berries. 

And when they were put together, Harry 


118 


EARLY LESSONS. 


counted them, and found, that they made 
ten. Lucy was not obliged to count them, 
for she knew by rote, or by heart, as it is 
sometimes called, that six and four make ten. 

Each of them next brought five strawber- 
ries ; and Harry knew, without counting, 
that when they were put together they would 
make ten. And Lucy knew, that the parcel 
of strawberries, which they gathered first, 
which made ten, would, when added to the 
second parcel, which also consisted of ten, 
make twenty. 

They now went, and gathered ten more. 
One gathered three, and the other gathered 
seven ; and this ten, added to the former 
number, made thirty. And they went again, 
and brought ten more to their mother : this 
ten was made up of eight and two ; and this 
ten, added to the thirty they had gathered 
before, made forty. 


Whilst they were eating them, Harry asked 
his sister if she knew what was meant by ty 
in twenty and thirty. Lucy laughed at him 
for supposing that she did not know it, and 
said her father had told her. Harry said, that 
he knew before, that teen , in the words thirteen, 
fourteen, &c. meant ten ; but he did not know 
that ty in twenty, and thirty, &c. meant ten. 
And he said he did not know, why ten should 
have three names’, ten, teen, and ty. 

Lucy said, she could not tell ; but they ask- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


119 


ed their father ; and he told them, that ten 
meant ten by itself, without any other num- 
ber joined to it ; but that teen meant ten with 
some other number joined to it ; and he ask- 
ed Harry what thirteen meant. 

Harry. I believe that it is three and ten ; 
for three, joined or added to ten, make thir- 
teen. Fourteen is plainly four and ten ; fifteen, 
five and ten. But why, father, is it not three- 
teen, instead of being called thirteen ? 

Father. Because it is easier to say thir- 
teen, than three-teen. 

Lucy. But why is it called twelve ? It 
should be two-teen. 

Harry. And eleven, father, should be 
one-teen. 

Father. I cannot now explain to you, my 
dear, the reason why we have not those 
names in English ; hut you perceive, that it is 
easy to remember the names of fourteen, fif- 
teen, sixteen, &c. because we remember that 
four, five, six, come after one another, and 
we perceive, that all that is necessary is to 
add teen to them. You see that fourteen 
means four and ten — four added to ten. 

Harry. But does ty in forty mean four 
added to ten ? 

Lucy replied, that it did not. 

Father. No — it means four times ten ; not 
ten added to four, but ten added together four 
times. And fifty means ten added together 
five times. So you see, that it is useful to 
have three names for ten, which differ a little 


120 


EARLY LESSONS. 


from one another, but which are also some- 
thing like each other ; for teen is like ten, 
and ty is like teen. Teen is always used 
when ten is added to any number, as far as 
nineteen ; and ty is always used when more 
tens than one are counted, as far as a hundred. 

Harry. Then twenty should be two-ty ; 
and thirty should be three-ty. 

Father. I told you before, my dear, that 
thirteen is used instead of three-teen, because 
the former word is more easily pronounced 
than the latter. Thirty is used instead of 
three-ty for the same reason. 

Harry. But why is not twenty two-ty ? 

Father. Twenty is made up of ty and of 
twain, a word that was formerly used for 
two ; the word twain, joined to ty, makes 
twainty, which, when spoken quickly, sounds 
like twenty. 

Harry. But, father, will you tell me an- 
other thing ] 

Father. No, Harry, we have talked enough 
about numbers at present ; you will be tired 
by thinking any longer with much attention, 
and I do not wish that you should be tired, 
when you attend to what you are about. 
Thinking, without tiring ourselves, is very 
agreeable ; but thinking becomes disagree- 
able, if we tire ourselves : and as thinking 
with attention is useful and necessary, we 
should take care, not to make it disagreeable 
to ourselves. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


121 


It was now tea-time ; and Harry and Lucy 
usually supped at the same time that their 
father and mother drank tea ; so that they 
had an opportunity of hearing many useful 
and entertaining things, that passed in 
conversation : and Lucy, recollecting that her 
mother had promised to tell her, at tea-time, 
something more about smoke and steam, put 
her in mind of what she had promised. Then 
her mother called for a lighted wax candle, 
and for a lighted tallow candle, and she desir- 
ed Lucy to hold a cold plate over the wax 
candle, and Harry to hold another cold plate 
over the tallow candle, and in a short time a 
considerable quantity of smoke, or soot, was 
collected upon each of the plates. Another 
cold plate was held over the tea-urn, in which 
water was boiling, and from which there issu- 
ed a large quantity of steam, or vapor of wa- 
ter. This steam was stopped by the plate, 
which, by degrees, was covered with a num- 
ber of very small drops, not so large as the 
head of a miniken pin. After the plate had 
been held over the steam a little longer, these 
drops became larger — they attracted one an- 
other ; that is to say, one little drop was joined 
to another, and made a large drop ; and so on, 
till at length the drops ran so much together, 
as to lose their round shape, and to run over 
the plate. Harry and Lucy were much enter- 
tained with this experiment. Harry observ- 
11 


122 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ed, that the vapor of water was very different 
from the vapor of a candle. 

Father. I am very glad to find, that you 
have so readily learned something of the 
meaning of the word vapor, which I have pur- 
posely made use of in the place of the word 
steam ; but you are mistaken, my dear, in 
saying vapor of a candle. Lamp-black, soot, 
and smoke, are formed from the vapor of the 
oily parts of burning bodies. Formerly peo- 
ple made use of lamps instead of candles, and 
the soot of those lamps was called lamp-black, 
though it should properly be called oil-black. 
Now pray, Harry, do you know the mean- 
ing of the word evaporate ? 

Harry. I believe it means being turned 
into vapor. 

Father. Did you observe any thing else in 
the experiments . which I have just shown 
to you ? 

Harry. Yes, father — I saw that the vapor 
of oil was solid when it was cold. 

Father. Condensed. 

Harry. Yes, condensed. 

Father. And did you not observe that the 
vapor of water, when condensed, was fluid ? 
— And what did you observe, Lucy ? 

Lucy. I thought, father, that the soot, or 
lampblack, which you told me was the vapor 
of oil, did not seem to turn into oil again, 
when it was condensed ; but that it had en- 
tirely a different appearance from the tallow 
and wax from which the oil came ; and yet, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 123 

that the vapor of water, when it was con- 
densed, became water again. 

Father. I do not think, my dear children, 
that my time has been thrown away in show- 
ing you this experiment. And, as I wish to 
make you like to attend to what is taught to 
you, I will endeavor to make it agreeable to 
you, by joining the feeling of pleasure to the 
feeling of attention in your mind, by giving 
you pleasure, or the hope of pleasure, when 
you attend. 

Harry. I know what you mean, father ; 
for, if we had not attended to what we were 
about, you would have endeavored to give us 
pain. 

Father. No, Harry, you are a little mistaken. 
I don’t wish to give you pain, unless when I 
want to prevent you from doing something 
that would be hurtful to yourself, or to other 
people ; and then I wish to associate, that is, 
join pain with such actions. But I do not ex- 
pect, that little boys and girls should be as wise 
as men and women ; and, if you do not attend, 
I only abstain from giving you pleasure. 

Harry. But, father, what pleasure were 
you going to give us ? 

Father. I was not going to give you any 
immediate or present pleasure, but only the 
hope of some pleasure to-morrow. Your 
mother and I intend, to-morrow, to walk to 
breakfast with her brother your uncle, who 
has come to live at a very pretty place not 
quite three miles from this house. He was 


124 EAltLY LESSONS. 

formerly a physician, and he has several cu- 
rious instruments — a microscope, an electrify- 
ing machine, an air-pump, and a collection of 
fossils, and a few shells and prints ; and he 
knows very well how to explain things to 
other people. And the pleasure that your 
mother and I meant to give you, was to take 
you with us to-morrow morning. 

Harry and Lucy were very happy when 
they were going to bed, from the remem- 
brance of the day that they had passed, and 
from the hope of being happy on the day 
which was to come. 


At six o’clock in the morning Harry wa- 
kened ; and as they were to set out for Flower- 
hill at seven, he got up, and dressed himself 
with great alacrity, and Lucy did the same. 
But, alas ! their hopes were disappointed, for 
a violent thunder-storm came on before seven 
o’clock, which prevented their walk to their 
uncle’s. 

Harry planted himself at the window, and 
examined every cloud as it passed by, and 
every quarter of the sky, in expectation of 
fair weather and sunshine. But his sister, 
who was older, knew that her standing at the 
window would not alter the weather ; and 
she prudently sat down, to 3tudy botany be- 
fore breakfast, and to examine some flowers, 
which she had been gathering in her walk 
the day before. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


125 


When Harry had stood some time at the 
window, and had seen no appearance of a 
change in the sky, he turned about, and look- 
ed wistfully round him, like a person who did 
not know what to do with himself. His 
mother, who, at that instant, came into the 
room, could not help smiling at the melancho- 
ly figure which she saw before her ; and she 
asked Harry what was the matter. Harry 
owned that he felt sorry and sad, because he 
had been disappointed of the pleasure which 
his father had promised him. 

Mother. But, Harry, my dear, your father 
did not promise you fine weather. 

Harr y {laughing). No, mother, I know he 
did not, but I expected that it would be a fine 
day, and I am sorry that it is not. 

Mother. Well, Harry, that is all very nat- 
ural, as it is called, or to speak more proper- 
ly, it is what happens commonly. But though 
you cannot alter the weather, you may alter 
your own feelings, by turning your own at- 
tention to something else. 

Harry. To what else, mother ? 

Mother. You have several different occu- 
pations, that you are fond of : and if you turn 
your thoughts to any of them, it will prevent 
you from feeling sad upon account of the dis- 
appointment that you have met with. Be- 
sides, my dear Harry, the rain must, in some 
respects, be agreeable to you, and it is cer- 
tainly useful. 

Harry. O yes, mother, I know what you 


120 


EARLY LESSONS. 


mean — my garden. It was indeed in great 
want of water, and it cost me a great deal of 
trouble, to carry water to it twice every day. 
My peas will come on now, and I shall have 
plenty of radishes — Thank you, mother, for 
putting me in mind of my garden ; it has 
made me more contented. 

Harry’s father now came in, and seeing 
that he was cheerful, and that he bore his 
disappointment pretty well, he asked him, if 
he had ever seen a cork garden. 

Harry. No, father ; I remember I have 
seen a cork model of a house, but I never 
saw the model of a garden made of cork. 

Father. But this is not the model of a gar- 
den, but a sort of small garden made upon 
cork. Here it is. 

Harry. Why, this is nothing but the plate, 
or saucer, that commonly stands under a 
flowerpot, with a piece of cork, like the bung 
of a barrel, floating in water. 

Father. Notwithstanding its simplicity, it is 
capable, to a certain degree, of doing what a 
garden does. It can produce a salad. Here 
are the seeds of cresses and mustard ; sprin- 
kle them thinly upon this cork, and lay it in 
the closet near the south window. 

Harry. When may I look at it again ? 

Father. Whenever you please. Bat do not. 
touch, nor shake it, for, if you do, it will dis- 
turb the seeds from the places where they 
now rest, and that will prevent them from 
growing. In two or three days you will see, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 127 

that cresses and mustard plants have grown 
from these seeds. 

Harry . Pray, father, will the seeds grow 
on the cork, as they grow in the ground ? 

Father. No, my dear, it is not the cork that 
nourishes the plant, but it is the water which 
makes it grow. IPyou cover the bottom of a 
soup plate with a piece of flannel, and pour 
water into the place as high as just to touch 
the flannel, and scatter seeds on the surface 
of the flannel, they will grow upon it in the 
same manner that they grow upon cork. 

Harry. But if it is by the water only, that 
the seeds are made to grow, would they not 
grow as well, if they were put upon the bot- 
tom of the plate, without any cork or flannel? 

Father. No, my little friend, they would 
not ; because, if there were only so much wa- 
ter in the plate as to cover only half of each of 
the seeds, it would be so shallow, as to be evap- 
orated (you know what that means, Harry,) 
before the seeds could grow. Perhaps, also, 
the surface of the plate may be so smooth, as 
to prevent the fibres of the roots from taking 
hold of it. And there are many more rea- 
sons, which occur to me, why it is probable, 
that they would not grow. 

Harry. But we can try, father. 

Father. Yes, my dear, that is the only cer- 
tain method of knowing. 


Lucy’s mother recollected, that she had 
promised her the last year, to show her how 


128 


EARLY LESSONS. 


butter was made ; and, as the rain in the 
morning had prevented Lucy from gfing to 
her uncle’s, her mother thought it would be 
a good time to take her into the dairy, where 
the dairy-maid was churning. Little Harry 
was permitted to go with his sister. 

They remembered the wide shallow pans, 
which they had seen the year before ; and 
,they recollected that their mother had told 
them that the cream, or oily part of the milk, 
which was the lightest, separated itself from 
the heaviest part ; or, to speak more properly, 
that the heaviest part of the milk descended 
towards the bottom of the pans, and left the 
cream, or lightest part, uppermost ; and that 
this cream was skimmed olf twice every day, 
and laid by, till a sufficient quantity, that is 
to say, five or six or any larger number of 
quarts, was collected. 

They now saw twelve quarts, or three gal- 
lons of cream, put into a common churn : and 
the dairy-maid put the cream in motion, by 
means of the churn-staff, which she moved up 
and down with a regular motion, for seven 
or eight minutes : when she appeared tired, 
another of the maids took the churn-staff 
from her, and worked in her stead ; and so 
on alternately for about three-quarters of an 
hour, when the butter began to come, as it is 
called, or to be collected in little lumps in the 
cream. Harry and Lucy were much sur- 
prised, when the lid or cover of the churn 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


129 



was taken off, to see small lumps of butter 
floating in the milk. 

They saw that the cream had changed its 
color and consistency, and that several small 
pieces of butter were swimming on its sur- 
face. These pieces of butter were collected, 
and joined together into one lump by the 
dairy-maid, who poured some cold water into 
the churn, to make the butter harder, and to 
make it separate more easily from the milk, 
which had become warm with the quick mo- 
tion that had been used to make the butter 



130 


EARLY LESSONS. 


come. Then she carefully took it all out of the 
churn ; and put it into a wooden dish, and 
pressed it, so as to force all the milk out of it. 
She then washed it very clean, in cold water, 
a great many times, and, with a wooden 
thing, called a slice, which is like a large flat 
saucer, she cut the lump of butter, that she 
had made into pieces, in order to pull out of 
it all the cow’s hairs that had fallen into the 
milk, of which the cream had been made. 

Many of these hairs stuck to the slice, and 
others were picked out, which appeared as 
the butter was cut in pieces. 

The butter was then well washed, and the 
water in which it had been washed was 
squeezed out of it. The butter was now put 
into a pair of .scales, and it weighed nearly 
three pounds. Some of it was rolled into cylin-. 
ders, of about half a pound weight each ; and 
some of it was made into little pats, and stamp- 
ed with wooden stamps, which had different 
figures carved upon them ; the impression of 
which figures was marked upon the butter. 

Lucy asked what became of the milk, or 
liquor, which was left in the churn ; her mother 
told her it was called buttermilk, and that it 
was usually given to the pigs. 

Lucy. Mother — I have heard that in Ire- 
land and in Scotland, the poor drink butter- 
milk, and are very fond of it. 

Mother. Yes, my dear, but the buttermilk 
in Ireland is very different from the butter- 
milk here. We separate the thick part of the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


131 


cream from the rest, for the purpose of ma- 
king butter ; but in Ireland they lay by the 
thinner part, which is only milk, as well as the 
thick cream, for churning, and they add to it the 
richest part of the new milk, which is what 
comes last from the cow when she is milked : 
and what is left, after the butter is made, is 
for this reason not so sour ; and is more nou- 
rishing than the buttermilk in this country. 

Lucy. Do not they sometimes make whey 
of buttermilk and new milk ? 

Mother. Yes, my dear, whey is made or 
buttermilk and skimmed milk ; but it is not 
thought so pleasant, nor useful in this country, 
though it is much liked in Ireland ; probably 
because the buttermilk here is not so good as 
it is in Ireland. I am told, that it is frequently 
preferred in that country to any other kind of 
whey, even by those who are rich enough to 
have wine- whey. You see, my dear Lucy, 
that small circumstances make great differen- 
ces in things. I have heard it said, that the 
Irish poor must be very wretched indeed, if 
they be forced to use buttermilk, instead of 
milk ; but the fact is, their buttermilk is so 
much better than ours, that they frequently 
prefer it to new milk. To judge wisely, we 
must carefully make ourselves acquainted 
with the facts about which we are to judge. 

Harry. Pray, mother, why does dashing 
about the milk with the churn-staff make 
butter ? 

Mother. The process of making butter is 


132 


EARLY LESSONS. 


not yet exactly understood. Cream consists of 
oil, whey, and curd, and an acid peculiar to 
milk. You know what is meant by an acid. 

Lucy. Not very well ; I know it means 
what is sour. 

Mother. Yes, my dear, sourness is one of 
the properties of acids ; and when you have 
acquired a knowledge of a greater number of 
facts, that you can compare with one anoth- 
er, I shall be better able to explain to you 
what is meant by many terms, that I cannot 
at present make you understand. 

Harry. But, mother, you have not yet told 
us why churning makes butter. 

Mother. My dear, it does not make butter ; 
it only separates the oily or buttery part of 
the cream from the curd or cheesy part, and 
from the whey. We do not know exactly 
how this is done by churning ; but it is proba- 
ble, that, by striking the cream with the 
churn-staff, or by shaking it violently, the 
oily parts, or particles, are, from time to time, 
forced nearer together, which enables them 
to attract each other. 

Harry. Yes, mother. I know what that is 
— just as globules of quicksilver run together, 
when they are near enough. 

Mother. Globules ! Harry, where did you 
find that new word 7 

Harry. Father told it to me the other day, 
when I was looking at some quicksilver that 
he had let fall. He told me, the little drops 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


133 


of quicksilver, or mercury, which look like 
balls, were called globules, or little globes. 

Lucy. And, mother, the drops of dew and 
rain stand on several leaves separate from 
one another. On a nasturtion leaf I have 
seen drops of water almost as round as drops 
of quicksilver ; and when I pushed two of 
the drops near one another, they ran together 
and formed one larger drop. 

Mother. They were attracted together, as it 
Is called. 

Lucy. But the larger drop, which was 
made of the two drops, was not twice as large 
as either of the two small ones. 

Mother. Are you sure of that, Lucy ? 

Lucy. No, mother ; but I thought so. 

Mother . Two drops of mercury of the same 
size, or two drops of any other fluid, when 
they join, do Hot form a drop that is twice as 
large in breadth, or diameter, as one of the 
small drops ; but such a drop contains exact- 
ly as much, and weighs as heavy, as the two 
small drops. 

Harry. I do not understand you, mother. 

Mother. I will, by degrees, endeavor to 
make you understand me ; but it cannot be 
done at once, and you have attended enough 
now. — Lucy, it is time to read — let us go on 
with the account of insects, which you were 
reading yesterday. 


134 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Then Lucy and Harry, and their mother, 
left the dairy, and returned to the drawing- 
room. 

Mother. Here, Harry, sit down, and listen 
to what your sister reads. You will soon 
be able to read to yourself without assistance ; 
which, in time, will become an agreeable em- 
ployment. 

Lucy now read in the Guardian, No. 157, 
a very entertaining account of the industry 
and ingenuity of ants. 

Both Harry and she wished much that they 
could find some ants’ nests, that they might 
see how they carried on their works. Their 
mother said that she could show them an ant’s 
nest in the garden : and, as it had done rain- 
ing, she took them into the garden, and show- 
ed them two little holes in the ground, where 
the ants had formed cells, which served them 
for houses to live in, and for store-houses, to 
keep their eggs and food. They were busily 
employed in making a road, or causeway 
from one of these holes to the other. Great 
numbers were employed in carrying earth, to 
repair breaches which had been made in their 
work by the rain. 

Harry laid some dead flies and some small 
crumbs of bread upon the track where the 
ants were at work ; but they were not divert- 
ed from their labor by this temptation ; on the 
contrary, they pushed the dead flies and the 
crumbs out of their way, and went steadily 
on with their business. Harry’s mother told 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


135 


him she had tried the same experiment before, 
and that, perhaps, another time the ants might 
choose to eat, instead of pushing away the 
food, that was offered to them. Harry and 
Lucy staid, patiently watching the ants, till 
it was time to dress for dinner. 

After dinner Harry’s father told him, that 
the weather was sufficiently fine for their 
jaunt to Flower-hill ; and Harry now saw, 
that it was not such a great misfortune, as 
he had thought it in the morning, to have 
his walk deferred, and he and Lucy set out 
joyfully with their father and mother, to go 
to see their uncle. 

Their way lay through some pretty fields, 
and over stiles, and through a wood, and 
along a shady lane. As they passed through 
the fields, Harry, when they came to a corn- 
field, was able to tell the name of the grain, 
which was growing in it, and Lucy told him 
the names of several of the wild, flowers and 
weeds which were growing among the corn 
and under the hedges. 

During the last year, Harry had learnt to 
be very active in body, as well as in mind ; 
and, when he came to a low stile, he put his 
hands upon the top rail, and vaulted nimbly 
over it. And Lucy ran almost as fast as her 
brother, and was very active in every exercise 
that was proper for a little girl. 

They soon came to a windmill, which went 
round with great quickness. It was not 
necessary for his father to warn Harry, not to 


136 


EARLY LESSONS. 



go too near the arms or sails of the windmill, 
as he had read in a “ Present for a little Boy ” 
how dangerous it is, to go within the reach 
of a windmill’s sails. 

He was not however foolishly afraid, but 
wisely careful. He kept out of the reach of 
the sails, hut he was not afraid of going to the 
door, or the wheel and lever, by which the 
top was turned round ; and he counted, with 
the assistance of his father, the number of 
turns which the sails made in a minute. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


137 


His father looked at his watch, during one 
minute ; and Harry counted the number of 
revolutions, or turns, that the sails made in 
that time. He found, that they went round 
forty-five times in a minute. 

Lucy observed, that the middle of the sails 
moved round through a very small space, but 
that the ends, or tips of them, went very fast. 

Father. My dear, you see a black spot in 
that part of the cloth of the sails, which is near 
the centre of the arms, goes as often round as 
the tips of the sails — What then do you mean, 
by saying, that the tips move very fast ? 

Lucy. I mean, that they go a great way 
in a little time. 

Father. What do you mean by a great way? 

Lucy. I am afraid, that I cannot explain 
myself clearly — I mean, that the tips of the 
windmill sails go through a great way in the 
air — I believe, I should say, that they describe 
a very large circle ; and the part of the sails, 
that are near the centre, describe a small circle. 

Father. Now I understand you distinctly : 
the circle, which the tips describe, is very 
large, when compared with that described by 
the part near the centre. I have tried several 
times how fast the tips of windmill sails 
move ; and, when there was a brisk wind, 
they moved a mile in a minute. 

Harry. That is very fast indeed ! — But 
how could you tell this, father ? 

12 


138 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Father. I cannot explain to you now ; but 
some time hence I will. 

They now went through a wood where they 
saw squirrels jumping from tree to tree with 
great agility ; and rabbits, sitting up on their 
hind legs, looking about them, and running 
from one hole to another, as if they were at 
play. Harry asked several questions about 
the squirrels and rabbits, and about wood- 
peckers, and other birds that he saw. By 
these means, he and Lucy got some knowl- 
edge in their walk, and were amused the 
whole way to their uncle’s. 

Harry. Father, this walk puts me in mind 
of 1 Eyes and no Eyes,’ in Evenings at Home. 
I feel very glad to find, that things, which I 
have read in that book, are like real things, 
and that what I have read is of use to me.’ 

Neither Lucy nor Harry had ever seen their 
uncle B — ; and they expected, as he was 
called Doctor, that he must be a very grave 
old man, who would not take the trouble to talk 
to little children : but they were much mista- 
ken ; for they found, that he was very cheerful, 
and that he talked to them a great deal. 

After tea he took them into his study, in 
which, beside a great many books, there were 
several instruments and machines of different 
sorts. 

They had both seen a barometer and ther- 
mometer at home, but the barometer at Doc- 
tor B — ’s was much larger, than what Harry 
had seen before; and it was not fixed up against 


HARR V AND LUCY. 


139 


the wall, but was hung upon a stand with 
three legs, in such a manner, that, when it 
was touched, it swung about ; and the shining 
quicksilver, withinside of it, rose and fell, so 
as to show that it did not stick to the tube, 
that contained it. There were an air-pump, 
and a microscope, and a wooden orrery, in the 
room, and a pair of very large globes. 

Doctor B — let Harry examine them. And 
he was so good, as to answer ail the questions 
that either Lucy or Harry asked him. Harry 
asked him, what that shining liquid was, 
which he saw in the tube of the barometer. 

Doctor B. It is a metal called quicksilver ; 
and it is found in mines under ground. 

Harry. My father showed me quicksilver 
the other day, and it was liquid, and was spilt 
on the table, and on the floor ; and how can that 
be a metal 7 I thought metals were all solid. 

Doctor B. So they all are, when they are 
sufficiently cold. 

Harry. Then is quicksilver hotter than iron? 

Doctor B. I cannot explain to you, at pres- 
ent, what you want to know. 

Hai ry. What is that globe made of 7 

Doctor B. Of pasteboard and plaster. 

Harry. How is it made round 7 I thought 
pasteboard was made of flat sheets of paper, 
pasted upon one another. 

Doctor B. Flat pasteboard is ; but the paste- 
board upon this globe is made round, by means 
of a round mould, upon which it is formed — • 
You know, I suppose, what a mould is 7 


140 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Harry. Yes, I do, pretty well. But how 
can the pasteboard, after it is all pasted to- 
gether, be gotten off a round mould ? 

Doctor B. After it is dry, it is cut all round 
with a knife ; and then it will come off the 
mould in two caps, as the shell of a nut, when 
it is opened with a knife, comes off the kernel. 

Harry. What is the use of this machine, 
which you call an air-pump 1 

Doctor B. To pump air out of that glass 
vessel, which you see. 

Harry. I do not quite understand you, sir. 

Doctor B. No, my dear, it is not probable, 
that you can ; but I will soon give you a little 
book, which will teach you the uses of several 
instruments of this sort. 

Harry. My dear uncle, I cannot tell you, 
how mucji I shall be obliged to you. 

Harry and Lucy were much delighted with 
what they saw at their uncle’s ; and as they 
had not been troublesome, he asked their 
father and mother, to bring them to Flower- 
hill, when they next came to see him. 

They returned home that evening, just be- 
fore it was dark, and went to bed by moon- 
light. 

Thus ends an account of three days passed 
by Harry and Lucy. One day when Harry 
was about five, and Lucy six years old. And 
two days, a year afterwards, when Lucy was 
seven, and Harry six years of age. 


END OF PART II. 


141 


HARRY AND LUCY. 

PART III. 

— ♦ — 

TO PARENTS. 

We are a r raid, that the following pages should appear 
too difficult for children of eight or ten years old, if their 
thoughts have not been turned to subjects of the sort, 
which are here introduced to their attention. We, 
therefore, most earnestly deprecate the use of the follow- 
ing book, '.ill the understandings of the pupils, into whose 
hands it may be put, shall have been previously accus- 
tomed to the terms, and to the objects, which are men- 
tioned in the following parts of Harry and Lucy. 

The intention of the writers is to prepare the mind 
for more difficult studies ; and the end, which they have 
in view, will be completely frustrated, if this little book 
is crammed, into the minds of children. It is intended 
to be used in very short portions, and not to be formed 
into necessary tasks ; but to be read when the child’s 
mind has been prepared, by what it has already seen 
and heard, to wish to hear and see more. 

That these lessons (not tasks) are in themselves in- 
telligible to children, we are certain ; because they have 
been readily comprehended by several young children, 
and in particular by a boy of four years and two months 
old. All the experiments herein related were shown to 
him, at different times, within a fortnight. He was 


142 


EARLY LESSONS. 


much entertained. His lessons were short, but his at- 
tention was engaged, and he seemed to wish for their 
return with eagerness. That he did, and does under- 
stand them thoroughly, and that he has not been taught 
certain answers to certain questions by rote, we assert. 
In making this assertion, we do not mean to claim any 
superiority for this child over other children ; because 
we believe him to be no prodigy, but a child of good 
abilities, without any peculiar cleverness. So far from 
making any such claim, we must acknowledge, that this 
boy scarcely knows his letters ; and, that he shows no 
extraordinary quickness in learning them. He is, how- 
ever, lively and obedient ; indeed, the most lively chil- 
dren are, if well treated, usually the most obedient. The 
names of various objects, of common and of uncommon 
use, are familiar to him ; he has seen a variety of tools, 
and has been accustomed to handle a few of them. In 
short, in his education, nothing extraordinary has been 
said, or taught, or done. Every governess, and every 
mother, who acts as governess to her own children, may 
easily follow the same course. Where mothers have 
not time, and where they cannot obtain the assistance of 
a governess, it were to be wished, that early schools 
could be found for early education. To learn to read is 
to acquire a key to knowledge ; but alas ! it is a key, 
that is not always used to advantage. There is not an 
hour in the day, when something useful may not be 
taught, before books can be read, or understood. Perhaps 
parents may pity the father and mother, in Harry and 
Lucy, as much as they pity the children ; and may con- 
sider them as the most hard-worked, and hard-working 
people, that ever existed, or that were ever fabled to 
exist. They may say, that these children never had a 
moment’s respite, and that the poor father and mother 
had never any thing to do, nor ever did any thing, but 
attend to these children, answer their questions, and pro- 
vide for their instruction or amusement. This view of 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


143 


what is expected from parents may alarm many, even 
of those, who have much zeal and ability in education. 
But we beseech them not to take this false alarm. Even 
if they were actually to do all, that the father and mother 
of Harry and Lucy are here represented to have done, 
they would not, in practice, feel it so very laborious, or 
find that it takes up so preposterous a portion of their 
lives, as they might apprehend. In fact, however, there 
is no necessity for parents doing all this in any given 
time, though there was a necessity for the authors 
bringing into a small compass, in a reasonable number 
of pages, a certain portion of knowledge. 

Be it therefore hereby declared, and be it now and 
henceforward understood, by all those, whom it may 
concern, that fathers or mothers ( as the case may he) 
are not expected to devote the whole of their days, ot 
even two hours out of the four and twenty, to the tuition 
or instruction of their children. That no father is ex- 
pected, like Harry’s father, to devote an hour before 
breakfast to the trying of experiments for his children. 
That no mother is required to suspend her toilette — no 
father to delay shaving — while their children blow bub- 
bles, or inquire into the construction of bellows, windmill, 
barometer, or pump. And be it farther understood, that 
no mother is required, like Lucy’s mother, to read or 
find every evening entertaining books, or passages from 
books, for her children. 

Provided always, that said fathers and mothers do, at 
any and all convenient times, introduce or suggest, or 
cause to be introduced or suggested to their pupils, the 
simple elementary notions of science, contained in the 
following pages ; and provided always that they do at all 
times associate, or cause to be associated, pleasure in the 
minds of their children with the acquisition of knowledge. 

Richard Lovell Edgeworth, 
and Maria Edgeworth. 





:X'$ . - ■ :f» 

' 








■ 

•- . ... 








' 

. 

&*.}>•* » ?f* >‘.J <4** 4 









145 


HARRY AND LUCY, 

PART III. 


It was Lucy’s business to waken her father 
every morning. She watched the clock, and, 
when it was the right time, she used to go 
softly into her father's room, and to open the 
curtain of his bed, and to call him. 

‘ Father ! father ! itis time for you to get up !’ 

Then she drew back the window curtains 
and opened the shutters — and she put avery 
thing ready for him to dress. She liked to do 
this for her father, and he liked, that she 
should do it for him ; because the attending 
upon him taught her to be neat and orderly. 
She and her brother Harry both liked to be 
in the room with their father, when he was 
dressing ; because then he had leisure to talk 
to them. Every morning he used to tell or 
teach them something that they did not know 
before. 

One morning, at the beginning of winter, 
when the weather was cold, Lucy said — 

‘ It is much colder in this room to-day, fa- 
ther, than it was when you got up yesterday.’ 

13 


146 


EARLY LESSONS. 


1 O no ! I think it is not nearly so cold to- 
day as it was yesterday, when my father was 
dressing,’ said Harry. 

* What do you think, father V 

Their father went and looked at something , 
that hung in his window, and then answered — 

‘ I think, that it is neither hotter nor colder 
in this room to-day than it was yesterday, 
at the time when I was dressing.’ 

‘ Are you sure, father V said Lucy. 

1 Quite sure, my dear.’ 

1 How can you be quite sure, father V said 
Lucy — c How do you know V 
■ 1 I can tell liow father knows,’ cried Harry 
— * he looked at the thermometer.’ 

1 But how does he know by looking at the 
thermometer V said Lucy. 

* Come here, and I will show you, for I 
know,’ cried Harry — 1 Stand up on this chair, 
beside me, and I will show you ; my uncle 
told me about it last summer, when I was 
looking at the thermometer at his house. 

‘ Look, do you see this glass tube V 

1 Yes ; I have seen that very often.’ 

* I know that ; but do you see this part of 
the tube, at the top, seems to be empty ; and 
this part of it here, at the bottom, and half 
way up the glass tube, is full of something 
white — Do you knQw what that is V 

* Yes ; I remember very well my uncle 
told me, that is quicksilver , but what then V 

4 Stay, be patient, or I cannot explain it to 
you. Do you see these little marks, these 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


147 


divisions marked upon the edge here, upon 
the ivory, by the side of the glass tube V 

1 Yes : well V 

* And do you see these words printed V 

1 Yes : freezing , temperate, blood heat , boil- 
ing-water heat — I have read those words very 
often, but I don’t know what they mean.’ 

* When it is neither very hot nor very cold, 
people say it is temperate ; and then the 
quicksilver will be just opposite to that divi- 
sion where temperate is written. When it 
freezes, the quicksilver would be down here 
at the freezing point ; and, if this thermom- 
eter were put into boiling water, the quicksil- 
ver would rise up, and it would be just at 
the place where boiling-water is written. 
Blood heat , I believe, means the heat that 
people’s blood is of generally — I am not sure 
about that. But look, here are the numbers 
of the degrees of heat or cold. Boiling-water 
heat is 212 degrees : and when it is freezing 
it is 32 degrees.’ 

1 And the heat of this room now is — Look, 
what is it, Lucy ? 

Lucy said it was above the long line mark- 
ed 40. 

£ Count how many of the little divisions it 
is above 40,’ said Harry. 

She counted, and said seven : and her 
father told her to add that number to 40, 
which made 47. 

Then Lucy asked how her father had known 


148 


EARLY LESSONS. 


that it was as cold, and no colder in his room 
to-day, than it was yesterday morning. 

£ Because, yesterday morning, the quicksil- 
ver rose just to the same place, to 47 degrees, 
as it does to-day. It always rises or falls 
with the same degree of heat or cold, to 
the same place — to the same degree.’ 

£ But look, look, it is moving ! The quick- 
silver is rising, higher and higher, in the 
glass !’ cried Lucy. 1 Look ! now it is at 
fifty — fifty-two — fifty-five — ’ 

£ Yes : do you know the reason of that V 
said Harry. 

£ No ; I do not know,’ said Lucy : 1 for it 
is not in the least warmer now, in this room, 
I think, than it was when we first looked 
at the thermometer.’ 

1 That is true ; but you have done some- 
thing, Lucy, to the thermometer, that has 
made the quicksilver rise.’ 

£ I ! — What have I done ? — I have not even 
touched it !’ 

£ But you have put your face close to it, 
and your warm breath has warmed the glass. 
Now look, when I put my hand, which I have 
just warmed at the fire, upon the bottom of 
the thermometer — upon this little round ball, 
or bulb, where the greatest part of the quick- 
silver is — look, how it rises in the tube ! and 
now I will carry the thermometer near the 
fire, and you will see how much more the 
quicksilver will rise.’ 

Lucy looked at it, and she saw, that the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 149 

quicksilver rose in the thermometer, when it 
was brought near to the fire. 

As Harry was putting it still closer to the 
fire, his father called to him, and begged, 
that he would take care and not to break the 
thermometer. 

‘ O yes, father, 1 will take care. If you 
will give me leave, now, I will put it into this 
kettle of water, which is on the fire, and see 
whether the water is boiling or not. If it is 
boiling, the quicksilver will rise to boiling 
water heat . will it not ? — I will hold the ther- 
mometer by the string at the top, so I shall 
not burn my fingers.’ 

His father stood by, while Harry tried this 
experiment ; and Lucy saw, that, when the 
water boiled, the quicksilver rose to boiling 
water heat ; that is, to 212 degrees. 

Then Harry carried the thermometer back 
again to the window, and left it to cool for 
some minutes ; and they saw, that the quick- 
silver fell to the place where it had been 
when they first looked at the thermometer 
this morning ; that is to say, to 47 degrees. 

1 Now you see,’ said Harry, 1 the use of the 
thermometer. It shows exactly how hot or 
how cold it is.’ 

1 It measures the degrees of heat,’ said their 
father, 1 and the name thermometer means 
measurer of heat, from two Greek words ; 
thermo means heat, meter means measure, 
as you may observe in the words baro meter, 
pyrometer, hygrorae'er, and many others.’ 


150 


EARLY LESSONS. 


c But why, father, does the quicksilver rise 
in the tube when it is hot, and fall when it is 
cold 1 I do not understand why,’ said Lucy. 

1 That is a sensible question,’ said her father; 
{ and I am not sure, that I can answer it so 
as to make you understand me. It has been 
found, from experience, my deaf, that quick- 
silver expands ; that is, spreads out — takes 
up more room — when it is heated, than when 
it is cold : and it always expands equally 
when it is in the same heat. So that, by 
knowing how much more room it takes up, 
for instance, when it is held near the fire, 
than it did when it was hanging in the win- 
dow, we could know how much greater the 
heat is near the fire, than at the window — 
Do you understand me, Lucy, my dear V 
1 Y es, father, — I think I do. Y ou say, that, 

when the quicksilver is heated, it 1 forget 

the word ’ 

‘ Expands ,’ cried Harry. 

‘ Yes, expands — When quicksilver is heat- 
ed, it expands , father.’ 

( But what do you mean by expands , my 
little girl V 

1 It spreads out every way — its size increa- 
ses it takes up more room.’ 

‘ Very well — And what then ?’ 

1 Why then — as it expands when it is heat- 
ed, people can tell, by seeing or measuring 
the size of the quicksilver, how hot it is.’ 

‘ True — But how do you think they know 
exactly how much it increases in size or bulk } 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


151 


when it is heated to different degrees of heat 1 
— How do they measure and see at once the 
measure of this V 

1 With a pair of compasses, father,’ said 
Lucy. 

‘ Look at this little ball, or globe of quick- 
silver,’ said her father, pointing to a little 
ball of quicksilver in the glass, at the bottom 
of the thermometer. ‘ Would it not be diffi- 
cult to measure this with a pair of compasses 
every time you apply heat to it V 

1 That would be difficult to be sure,’ said 
Lucy. 

1 There must be some other way — Some 
way too that it can be measured, without ta- 
king the quicksilver out of the glass every 
time.’ 

1 I know the way !’ cried Harry. 

1 Don’t speak — don’t tell her — let your sis- 
ter think, and find out for herself. And now 
I must shave ; and do not not either of you 
talk to me, till I have done.’ 

Whilst her father was shaving, Lucy look- 
ed at the thermometer, and considered about 
it ; and she observed, that the thin, tall line, 
or column of quicksilver, in the little glass 
tube, rose from the bulb, or globe of quicksil- 
ver, at the bottom of the thermometer — and, 
when she put her warm hand upon this bulb, 
the quicksilver rose in the tube. 

* I know it now !’ cried Lucy, 1 but I must 
not tell it, till father has done shaving, lest I 
should make him cut himself.’ 


152 


EARLY LESSONS. 



As soon as father had done shaving, Lucy/ 
who had stood patiently at his elbow, stretch- 
ed out her hand, and put the thermometer 
before his eyes. 

1 Here, father ! now I will show you.’ 

‘ Not so near, my dear — do not put it so 
close to my eyes ; for I cannot see it, when it 
is held very near to me,’ said her father. 

1 There, father ; you can see it now,’ said 
Lucy, 1 cannot you ? and you see the quick- 
silver, in this little glass globe, at the bottom 
of the thermometer.’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


153 


‘ Yes ; I see it,’ said her father. 

‘ When it is heated, and when it expands, * 
continued Lucy, ‘ it must have more room, and 
it cannot get out at the bottom, or sides, or any 
way, hut up this little glass tube. There is 
an opening, you see, from the uppermost part 
of that little globe, into this glass tube.’ 

{ Very well, 7 said her father — 1 go on, my 
dear.’ 

‘ And, when the quicksilver is made hot, and 
hotter, it rises high, and higher, in this tube, 
because it wants more and more room ; and 
the height it rises to, show how hot it is, be- 
cause that is just the measure of how much the 
quicksilver has expanded — has grown larger. 
And, by the words that are written here — and 
by these little lines — these degrees, I believe, 
you call them — you can know, and tell peo- 
ple exactly how much the quicksilver rises or 
falls — and that shows how hot it is.’ 

‘ Pretty well explained, Lucy — I think you 
understand it.’ 

‘ But one thing she does not know,’ said 
Harry, 1 that, in making a thermometer, the air 
must be first driven out of the little tube, and 
the glass must be quite closed at both ends, so 
as to keep out the air. My uncle told me this 
— and now, father,’ continued Harry, ‘ will 
you tell me something about the barometer — 

I know, that it is not the same as the ther- 
mometer ; but I do not know the difference — 
Father, will you explain it to me V 

( Not now — You have had quite enough for 


154 


EARLY LESSONS. 


this morning, and so have I. I must make 
Jiaste and finish dressing, and go to breakfast/ 

1 Yes ; for mother is ready, I am sure,’ cri- 
ed Lucy. ‘ Here are your boots, father/ 

1 And here is your coat,’ said Harry. 

‘ Father, to-morrow morning, will you let 
us blow bubbles, when you have done sha- 
ving V said Lucy. 

1 No, no ; I want to hear about the barom- 
eter to-morrow,’ said Harry. 

1 We will settle this when to-morrow comes ; 
and now let us go to breakfast,’ said their 
father. 

At breakfast, as their father was looking at 
the newspaper, he found an advertisement, 
which he read aloud. It said, that a man had 
brought an elephant to a town in the neigh- 
borhood, which he would show to any person, 
who would pay a shilling a piece for seeing it ; 
and, that the elephant was to be seen every 
day, for a week, between the hours of twelve 
and three. 

Harry and Lucy wished very much to see 
an elephant ; they said, that they would rather 
see it, than any other animal, because they had 
heard and read many curious anecdotes of el- 
ephants. Their father said, that he would take 
them, this morning, to the neighboring town, 
to see this elephant. Harry immediately went 
for his 1 Sandford and Merton ,’ and Lucy 
jumped from her chair, and ran for her ‘ In- 
stinct Displayed And they each found, in 


HARR Y AND LUCY. 


155 


these books, anecdotes, or stories of elephants, 
which they were eager to read to their father 
and mother. Lucy had not quite finished 
breakfast, so Harry began first ; and he read 
the history of the tailor, who pricked the ele- 
phant’s trunk with his needle ; and he read 
of the manner in which the elephant punished 
him. And he read the account of the enraged 
elephant, who, when his driver’s child was 
thrown in his path, stopped short, in the midst 
of his fury ; and, instead of trampling upon the 
infant, or hurting him, looked at him seemingly 
with compassion, grew calm, and suffered him- 
self to be led, without opposition, to his stable. 

When Harry had finished reading, Lucy said 
that she liked these stories of the elephant ; 
but that she had read that part of Sandford and 
Merton so often, that she had it almost by 
heart. ‘ But now,’ said she, 1 I will read you 
something, that will, I hope, be quite new, even 
to father and mother — unless they have read 
my Mrs. Wakefield’s ‘ Instinct Displayed.’ 

Then Lucy read an account of Rayoba’s 
favorite elephants, who were almost starved by 
their keepers, before it was discovered how 
their keepers cheated them of their food. When 
the prince saw that his elephants grew thin 
and weak, he appointed persons to see them 
fed every day- md these people saw the keep- 
ers give the el ,>hants the food, of which they 
were most fon , rich balls, called massaulla , 
composed of spices, sugar, butter, &c. The ele- 
phants took these balls up in their trunks and 


156 


EARLY LESSONS. 


put them into their mouths, in the presence of 
the persons, who were to see them fed; but still 
the elephants, though they seemed to eat so 
much every day, continued thin and weak. 

1 At length, the cheat was discovered, and 
it shows the extraordinary influence the keep- 
ers had obtained over these docile animals. 
They had taught them, in the inspectors’ pres- 
ence, to receive the balls, and to put them into 
their mouths, with their trunk, but to abstain 
from eating them ; and these tractable crea- 
tures actually had that command over them- 
selves, that they received this food, of which 
they they are so remarkably fond, and placed 
it in their mouths, but never chewed it; and the 
balls remained untouched, until the mspectors 
(that is, the people who had been appointed to 
see them fed) withdrew. The elephants then 
took them out carefully, with their trunks, 
and presented them to the keepers ; accepting 
such a share only as they were pleased to 
allow them.’ 

Lucy rejoiced at finding, that this curious 
anecdote was new to her brother, and even to 
her father and mother. After they had talked 
about it for some time, and had admired the 
docility of these poor elephants, Lucy told what 
she had read of another elephant, who used to 
gather mangoes for his master, and to come 
every morning to his master’s tent, when he 
was at breakfast, and wait for a bit of sugar 
candy. Lucy’s mother then desired her to 
bring from the library table the book, which 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


157 


she had been reading yesterday evening, Mrs 
Graham's Account of her Residence in India . 
When Lucy had brought the book, her mother 
showed her an account of an elephant, who 
had saved the life of an officer, who fell under 
the wheel of a carriage ; and a description of 
the manner in which elephants are tamed j 
she told Lucy, that she and Harry, if they 
chose it, might read these passages. They liked 
particularly to read, at this time, accounts of 
this animal, that they might know as much as 
they could of his history, before their father 
should take them to see the elephant. They 
were happy, reading together what their mo- 
ther had given them leave to read of this book ; 
and then they looked over the prints, and, by 
the time they had done this, their mother call- 
ed Lucy to her dressing room, to write and to 
cast up sums, and Harry went to his father’s 
study, to learn his Latin lesson. 

Harry and Lucy regularly employed them- 
selves, for about an hour, every morn- 
ing, after breakfast ; and, in general, they 
attended entirely to what they were do- 
ing, while they were learning whatever 
they had to learn — therefore they learned 
well and quickly. Lucy was learning to 
write, and she wrote about two lines carefully 
every day*; always trying to mend each day, 
faults of which her mother had told her the 
preceding day. She was also teaming arith- 
metic ; and she could, with the help of a dic- 
tionary, make out the meaning of half a page 


158 


EARLY LESSONS. 


of French, every day, without being much 
tired. She knew that nothing can be learn- 
ed without taking some trouble ; but when she 
succeeded in doing better and better, this made 
her feel pleased with herself, and paid her for 
the pains she took. She now read English so 
well, that it was a pleasure to her to read ; and 
to her mother, it was a pleasure to hear her. 
So the reading English was always kept for 
the last of her morning employments. She 
was, at this time, reading such parts of Even- 
ings at Horne , as she could understand. This 
day, she read the ‘ Transmigrations of Indur 
and, after she had read this in 1 Evenings at 
Home,’ her mother let her read a little poem, 
on the same subject, which was written by a 
young gentleman, a relation of hers. Lucy 
particularly liked the following description of 
the metamorphosis , or change , of the bee into 
an elephant — 


* Now the lithe trunk, that sipped the woodland rose, 
With strange increase, a huge proboscis grows : 

IJis downy legs, his feather-cinctured thighs, 

Swell to the elephant’s enormous size. 

Hefore his tusks the bending forests yield ; 

Beneath his footstep shakes th’ astonished field ; 

With eastern majesty he moves along ; 

Joins in unwieldy sport the monster throng. 

Roaming, regardless of the cultured soil, 

The wanton herd destroy a nation’s toil. 

In swarms the peasants crowd, a clamorous hand, 
Raise the fierce shout, and snatch the flaming brand; 
Loud tramp the scared invaders o’er the plain, 

And reach the coverts of their woods again.’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


159 


By the time Lucy had finished reading, and 
that she had worked a little, and had copied 
the outline of a foot and of a hand, her mother 
told her to put by all her books, work, and 
drawings, and to get ready to go out ; for it 
was now the hour when her father had said, 
that he should take Lucy and her brother to 
see the elephant. 


Harry and Lucy walked with their father to 
the neighboring town, which was about a mile 
and a half distant from their home ; they went, 
by pleasant paths, across the fields. It was 
frosty weather, so the paths were hard ; and 
the children had fine running and jumping, 
and they made themselves warm all over. 
When she was very warm, Lucy said — 

‘ Feel my hand, father ; I am sure, if I was 
to take the thermometer in my hand now, the 
quicksilver would rise finely. How high, 
father ? — to how many degrees do you think 
it would rise ?’ 

1 1 think,’ answered her father, 1 to about sev- 
enty degrees of Fahrenheit’s thermometer.’ 

1 Fahrenheit’s thermometer ! Why do you 
call it Fahrenheit’s thermometer? I thought it 
was your thermometer, father !’ said Lucy. 

1 So it is, my dear ; that is, it belongs to me, 
but it is called Fahrenheit’s, because a person 
of that name first divided the scale of the ther- 
mometer in the manner in which you saw 
that of mine divided. There are other ther- 


160 


EARLY LESSONS. 


mometers, divided in a different manner; some 
of these are called Reaumur’s thermometers, 
because they were first divided so by a per- 
son of the name of Reaumur.’ 

c But, father, will you tell me,’ said Harry, 
1 something about the barometer ?’ 

His father stopped him. ‘ I cannot tell you 
any thing about that now, my dear : run on, 
or we shall not have time to see the elephant; 
for the keeper of the elephant shows him only 
till three o’clock each day.’ Harry and Lucy 
ran on, as fast as they could, and they were 
quite in time to see the elephant. 

They were surprised at the first sight of this 
animal. Though they had read descriptions, 
and had seen prints of elephants, yet they had 
not formed an exact idea of the reality. Lucy 
said that the elephant appeared much larger ; 
Harry said it was smaller, than what he had 
expected to see. Lucy said, that, till she saw 
it, she had no idea of the .colour, nor of the 
wrinkled appearance of the elephant’s skin. 
The keeper of this elephant ordered him to 
pick up a little bit of money which he held 
upon the palm of his hand. Immediately the 
obedient animal picked it up with the end of 
his proboscis, and gave it to his keeper. Lucy 
said, she had never had a clear notion how it 
moved its trunk, or proboscis, nor how it could 
pick up such small things with it till she saw 
it done. Harry said, that he had never had 
an idea of the size or shape of the elephant’s 
feet, till he saw them. Lucy said, the prints 


HAIIRY AND LUCY. 


161 


had given her no idea of the size of its ears, 
or of the breadth of its back. Both she and 
her brother agreed, that it is useful and agree- 
able to see real things and live animals, as 
well as to read or hear descriptions of them. 

The keeper of this elephant was a little 
weak-looking man. Harry and Lucy admired 
the obedience and gentleness of this powerful 
animal, who did whatever his master desired, 
though sometimes it appeared to be inconve- 
nient and painful to it to obey. For instance, 
when the elephant was ordered to lie down, he 
bent his fore knees and knelt on them ; though 
it seemed to be difficult and disagreeable to it 
to put itself into this posture, and to rise again 
from its knees. Lucy asked what this elephant 
lived upon, and how much he eat every day. 
The man said, that he fed the elephant with 
rice and with vegetables, and he showed a 
bucket, which, he said, held several quarts — 
this bucketful the elephant eat every day. 
There was, in one corner of the room, a heap 
of raw carrots, of which, the keeper said, the 
elephant was fond : he held a carrot to the 
animal, who took it gently, and eat it. 

When Lucy saw how gently the elephant 
took the carrot, she wished to give it one with 
her own hand ; and the man told her that she 
might. But when Lucy saw the elephant’s 
great trunk turning towards the carrot, which 
she held out to him, she was frightened ; she 
twitched back her hand, and pulled the carrot 
14 



away from the elephant, just as he was going 
to take it. This disappointment made him 
very angry ; and he showed his displeasure, 
by blowing air through his proboscis, with a 
sort of snorting noise, which frightened Lucy. 
Harry, who was more courageous, and who 
was proud to show his courage, took the car- 
rot, marched up to the elephant, and gave it 
to him. The animal was pacified directly, 
and gently took the carrot with his proboscis, 
turned back the proboscis, and put the carrot 
into his mouth. Harry, turning to his father, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


163 


with a look of some self-satisfaction, said, that 
1 the great Roman general, Fabricius, was cer- 
tainly a very brave man, not to have been ter- 
rified by the dreadful noise made by king 
Pyrrhus’s elephant, especially as Fabricius 
had never seen an elephant before.’ Lucy did 
not know what Harry alluded to , or what he 
meant ; because she had not yet read the Ro- 
man history. He said, that he would show 
her the passage in the Roman history, as soon 
as they were at home. And now, having look- 
ed at the elephant, as long as they wished to 
look at him, and having asked all the ques- 
tions they wanted to ask, they went away ; 
they were glad to get out into the fresh air 
again, for the stable, in which the elephant liv- 
ed, had, a very disagreeable smell. Lucy 
pitied this animal for being kept cooped up, as 
she said, in such a small room, instead of being 
allowed to go about, and to enjoy his liberty. 
Harry then thought of horses, who live shut 
up a great part of their lives in stables. He 
asked his father, whether he thought, that 
horses, who have been tamed, or broke in as it 
is called, and who are kept in stables and taken 
care of by men, are happier or less happy than 
wild horses. His father said, he thought this 
must depend upon the manner, in which the 
horses are fed and treated : he observed, that 
if horses, who are tamed by man, are constant- 
ly well fed, and are protected from the inclem- 
encies of the weather, and are only worked 
with moderation, it is probable that they are 


164 


EARLY LESSONS. 


happy ; because, in these circumstances, they 
are usually in good health and fat, and their 
skins look sleek, smooth, and shining. From 
these signs, we may guess that they are 
happy ; but, as they cannot speak, and tell 
us what they feel, we cannot be certain. 

During the walk home, Harry and Lucy 
took notice of many things. There was 
scarcely an hour in their lives, in which they 
did not observe and learn something. One 
subject of observation and of conversation led 
to another ; but it is impossible to give an 
account of all these things. 

When they got home, Lucy reminded her 
brother of his promise about Fabricius and 
the elephant : he showed her the passage in 
the Roman history, which he had read ; and 
that evening Lucy asked her mother, if she 
might read the whole of her brother’s Roman 
history. Her mother gave her a little history 
of Rome,* with sixty-four prints in it ; and 
she told Lucy, that, when she knew all the 
facts, told in this history, it would be time 
enough to read another, which might tell her 
more particulars of the Roman history. 


The next day being Sunday, Harry and 
Lucy went, with their father and mother, to 
church. The morning lesson , for this day, was 
one of the chapters of the Bible, which con- 
tains the history of Joseph and his brethren. 

* Probably Mrs. Trimmer’s. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


165 


Harry and Lucy listened attentively, and 
when they came home from church, they told 
their father, they wished very much, to know 
the end of that history, of which they had 
heard the beginning read by the clergyman, 
at church. Their father took down, from his 
bookcase, the large family Bible, and he read 
the whole of the history of Joseph and his 
brethren, with which the children were very 
much interested and touched. 

In the evening, they each read to their 
mother one of Mrs. Barbauld’s 1 Hymns in 
Prose for Children . 7 Harry and Lucy loved 
these hymns, and they showed their mother 
the passages, that they liked, particularly in 
those, which they read this day. 

‘ Mother, this is the passage, which I liked 

the best , 7 said Lucy 

1 Look at the thorns, that are white with 
blossoms, and the flowers, that cover the fields 
and the plants, that are trodden in the green 
path : the hand of man hath not planted 
them ; the sower hath not scattered the seeds 
from his hand, nor the gardener digged a 
place for them with his spade. 

‘ Some grow on steep rocks, where no man 
can climb ; in shaking bogs, and deep forests, 
and desert islands : they spring up every 
where, and cover the bosom of the whole earth. 

‘ Who causeth them to grow every where, 
and giveth them colors and smells, and spread- 
eth out their thin transparent leaves ? 

c How doth the rose draw its crimson from 


166 


EARLY LESSONS. 


the dark brown earth, or the lily its shining 
white 7 How can a small seed contain a plant 7 

‘ Lo ! these are a part of his works, and a 
little portion of his wonders. 

‘ There is little need, that I should tell you 
of God, for every thing speaks of Him.’ 

Harry was silent for a moment, after he had 
heard these passages read again, and then he 
said — 1 I like that very much indeed, Lucy : 
but now let me read to you, mother, what I 
like better still.’ 

‘ Negro woman, who sittest pining in captiv- 
ity, and weepest over thy sick child ; though 
no one seeth thee, God seeth thee ; though no 
one pitieth thee, God pitieth thee : raise thy 
voice, forlorn and abandoned one : call upon 
Him, from amidst thy bonds, for assuredly 
he will hear thee. 

‘ Monarch, that rulest over a hundred states, 
whose frown is terrible as death, and whose 
armies cover the land, boast not thyself, as 

though there were none above thee God 

is above thee ; his powerful arm is always 
over thee ! and, if thou doest ill, assuredly 
He will punish thee.’ 


The next morning, when Harry and Lucy 
went into their father’s room, Harry drew back 
the curtain of his father’s bed, and said — 

‘ Father, you promised to tell me something 
about the barometer, and it is time to get up.’ 

His father answered, without opening his 
eyes-*- 


IIARRY AND LUCY. 


167 


1 Do you see two tobacco pipes V 

Harry and Lucy laughed : for they thought 
that their father was dreaming of tobacco 
pipes, and talking of them in his sleep. Lucy 
recollected, that her mother said, he had been 
writing letters late the night before, and she 
said to her brother — 

c We had better let him sleep a little longer.’ 

£ Yes, do my dear,’ said her father, in a 
sleepy voice : 1 and take the two tobacco pipes, 
and my soap, and my basin, and the hot wa- 
ter, Lucy, that you brought for my shaving, 
and you may blow soap bubbles, in the next 
room, for half an hour : and, at the end of 
that time, come and waken me again.’ 

Harry looked about the room, and he found, 
on his father’s table, the two tobacco pipes, 
which he had been so good as to put there 
the night before. Taking care to move softly, 
and not to make any noise, that should disturb 
their father, they carried out of the room with 
them the hot water, basin, soap, and tobacco 
pipes. During the next half hour, they were 
so happy, blowing bubbles, watching them 
swell and mount in the air, and float, and 
burst, trying which could blow the largest 
bubbles, or the bubbles which would last the 
longest, that the half hour was gone before 
they thought that a quarter of an hour had 
passed. But Lucy heard the clock strike, and 
immediately she knew, that the half hour 
was over, and that it was time to go and wa- 
ken her father again. So she went directly, 


168 


EARLY LESSONS. 



for she was very punctual. Her father was 
now awake, and he got up ; and, while he 
was getting up, she began to talk to him of 
the pretty soap bubbles, which they had been 
blowing ; but Harry was impatient to ask his 
father something about the barometer. 

1 Now, Lucy, let us have done with the soap 
bubbles,’ said Harry, ‘ I want to learn some- 
thing seriously — father, I want to understand 
the barometer perfectly, before I go, next 
week, to my uncle’s, that he may find X ara 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


169 


not so ignorant,- as I was the last time he saw 
me : and besides, my cousin Frederic will be 
at home, and he is only a year or two older 
than I am : and my uncle says that Frederic 
understands the use of all the instruments in 
his room — but I did not understand even the 
barometer — father, will you explain it to me 
this morning 7’ 

1 Just let me first show father this one large 
bubble,’ said Lucy, ‘ and then you may go 
to the barometer.’ 

Lucy blew a large bubble from the end of 
her tobacco pipe ; but it burst before it had 
risen far. Then Lucy put by the tobacco 
pipe and said — 

‘ Now I will not interrupt you any more 
with my bubbles.’ 

1 But perhaps, my dear Lucy,’ said her 
father, ‘ the bubbles may lead us to the knowl- 
edge of some things necessary to be known, 
before I can explain a barometer. Do you 
know what a bubble is ?’ 

1 O yes, father,’ said she ; 1 1 remember you 
told me, a great while ago, — a bubble is 1 

She was forced to pause, to think, howev- 
er, before she could describe it. 

‘ I believe, it is air, blown into a round case, 
or globe, of something — a soap bubble is air 
in a round case of soap and water — but, father, 
I have often seen bubbles on the top of water ; 
they are only air and water. But how can. 
the case be made of water 7 I can conceive, 
15 


170 


EARLY LESSONS. 


that a globe of soap and water might stick 
together, because I know, that soap is sticky; 
but I wonder at water’s sticking together, so 
as to make a hollow globe.’ 

‘ When you look at water,’ said her father, 
* or at quicksilver, you perceive that they are 
very different, not only in colour, but in their 
other properties.’ 

‘ Properties , father,’ said Lucy — ‘ that is a 
word of which you taught me the meaning — 
properties are what belong to things.’ 

‘ One of the properties of water is fluidity 
said her father — ‘ sand, on the contrary, is not 
fluid. Sand may be poured out, like water 
or quicksilver ; but the grains, of which it is 
composed, are separate, and have no visible 
attraction for each other. The parts of water 
cohere , or stick together, but slightly ; a small 
force divides them ; but still they have an 
obvious tenacity.’ 

‘ Father ! what is obvious tenacity ? — tenaci- 
ty, I know, is stickiness — but what .does 
obvious mean V 

‘ Easily seen — plain — easy to be perceived. 
By obvious tenacity I mean tenacity Avhich 
you can easily perceive ; though nothing 
viscid, or sticky, is added to the water, you 
see that water can be spread by air, so as to 
form the outer case of a bubble.’ 

‘ But when soap is added to water,’ said 
Lucy, ‘ larger bubbles can be made.’ 

‘ Yes — Why V 

* Because the soap makes the parts of the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


171 


water stick together more strongly ; but, fa- 
ther,’ continued Lucy, ‘ what is the reason that 
a bubble bursts ? for, if the outside case is 
strong enough to hold it at first, why should 
not that hold it as well always ? yet at last 
it bursts — what is the reason of this V 

Her father said, that he believed there were 
several causes, which might make a bubble 
burst ; and that he was not sure, either that 
he knew all of them, or that he could explain 
them all, so as to make Lucy understand them. 
He mentioned some of the causes ; for instance, 
the wind blowing against the bubble might 
break it ; or the heat might expand the air 
withinside of it, and burst it ; or, at other times, 
some of the water, of which the outer skin of 
the bubble is made, may run down from the 
top to the bottom, till it makes the bottom so 
heavy, and the top so thin, that it bursts.’ 

Here Harry was heard to utter a deep 
sigh. His father smiled, and said — 

‘ Poor Harry thinks we shall never get to 
the barometer : but have patience, my boy, 
we have not gone so far out of the way, as you 
think we have. Now, Harry, run to my 
work-shop, and bring me a bladder, which 
you will find hanging up near the door. And, 
Lucy, run for the little pair of bellows which 
is in your mother’s dressing room.’ 

Harry brought the bladder, and Lucy 
brought the bellows. They were curious to see 
what their father was going to show them ; 
but, just then, the breakfast bell rang. Their 


172 


EARLY LESSONS. 


father could not show or tell them any thing 
more, that morning, for he was forced to finish 
dressing himself as fast as he could, and the 
children helped him eagerly. One reason, 
why they liked to come to their father every 
morning, and to be taught by him, was, that 
he never tired them by forcing them to attend 
for a long time together. 

Ten minutes at a time he thought quite suf- 
ficient, at their age ; but then he required com- 
plete attention. Whenever he found, that they 
were not thinking of what he was teaching 
them, he would not say any more to them — 
he sent them away. For this they were al- 
ways sorry : and this 'punishment , or rather 
this privation , was sufficient to make them 
attend better next day. It seldom happened, 
that they were sent out of their father’s room. 
Though he never taught them in play , as it is 
called, yet he made what they learned as in- 
teresting to them as he could ; and he made 
work and play come one after the other, so as 
to refresh them. He and their mother took 
care, that Harry and Lucy should neither be 
made to dislike knowledge, by having tire- 
some, long tasks, nor rendered idle, and un- 
able to command their attention, by having 
too much amusement. 

Spoiled children are never happy. Between 
breakfast and dinner, they ask a hundred 
times, ‘ What o’clock is it !’ and wish for the 
time when dinner will be ready, or when pud- 
ding or apple-pie will come. And, when din- 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


173 


ner is over, they long for tea time, and so on. 
Or they must have somebody to amuse them, 
or some new toys. From morning till night 
they never know what to do with themselves ; 
but, the whole long day they are lounging 
about, and troublesome to every body, contin- 
ually wishing, or asking, or crying, for some- 
thing, that they have not Poor miserable 

creatures ! Children, who are not spoiled, 

will smile when they read this ; and will be 
glad, that they are not like these, but that they 
are like Harry and Lucy. 

Harry and Lucy loved pudding and apple- 
pie, as well as most people do ; but. eating 
was not their only, or their greatest pleasure. 
Having acquired a love for reading, and for 
knowledge of many sorts, they found contin- 
ually a number of employments, and of ob- 
jects, which entertained and interested them. 
So that they were never in want of new toys, 
or of somebody to amuse them. If any ex- 
traordinary amusement was given to them, 
such, for instance, as their seeing an elephant, 
they enjoyed it, as much as possible ; but, in 
general, Harry and Lucy felt, that they want- 
ed nothing beyond their common, every-day 
occupations. Beside their own occupations 
and amusements, there was something always 
going on in the house, which entertained 
them. They were now able to understand 
their father’s and mother’s conversation ; liv- 
ing constantly with them ( and not with ser~ 
vants ) they sympathized , that is, felt along 


174 


EARLY LESSONS. 


with their parents, and made, to a certain de- 
gree, a part of their society. Frequently, their 
mother read aloud in the evenings — Harry 
and Lucy were never desired to listen ; but 
sometimes they could understand what was 
read, and sometimes they found it entertaining. 

It happened, one winter evening, that their 
mother began to read a French book, which 
they could not understand, yet it seemed to 
amuse their father so much, that they wished 
to know what it was about. All that they 
heard their father and mother saying to one 
another about it made them sure, that it must 
be entertaining ; they left their map of Europe, 
which they had been putting together, and 
Lucy went and looked over her mother’s 
shoulder at the book, and Harry leaned on his 
elbows opposite to his mother, listening ea- 
gerly, to try if he could make out any mean- 
ing ; but he could understand only a word, 
or a short sentence, now and then. 

Their mother observed their eagerness to 
know what she was reading, and she was so 
good as to translate for them, and to read to 
them in English, the passages, which she 
thought most entertaining. She told them, 
first, what it was about. 

It was the account, given by a traveller, of 
a high mountain, in Switzerland, and of the 
manner of living of the people by whom it is 
inhabited. Harry and Lucy turned to the map 
of Europe, which they had been putting togeth- 
er, and pointed to Switzerland, as their mother 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


175 


spoke. The name of the mountain, of which 
she was reading an account, was Mount Pilate . 
The name was taken, as their father told them, 
from the Latin word P ileus , a hat, the top of 
this mountain being almost always covered 
with what looks like a hat or cap of clouds. 
Different points, or heights, of this mountain, 
are called by different names. The most cu- 
rious, difficult, and dangerous part of the as- 
cent, lies between the point called the Ass, 
and another called the Shaking Stone. 

1 O, mother ! read about the shaking stone,* 
cried Harry. 

‘ No, Harry, let mother begin here, where 
there is something about des ires belles 
f raises . I know the English of that, very fine 
strawberries.' 1 

Her mother began to read just where 
Lucy’s finger pointed. 

‘ At the bottom of this road, up to the sha- 
king stone, is a bank, which is covered with 
very fine strawberries, from the middle of sum- 
mer till the 21st of December, if the snow does 
not »cover them before that time. And they 
may be found, even under the snow, if people 
will take the trouble to look for them. 

‘ All the fir-trees, near this spot, are called 
storm-shelter ers ; because they seem to have 
been placed there on purpose to shelter people 
from the storms. Some of them afford a shel- 
ter of fifty feet in circumference. The rain 
cannot penetrate through the thick branches 
of these trees. The cattle are often seen gath- 


176 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ered together under them, even in the finest 
weather ; hut it generally happens that a storm 
comes on, within a quarter of an hour after 
the cattle have taken shelter in this manner.’ 

1 How do the cows, or horses, foresee the 
storm, mother V said Lucy. 

‘ I do not know, my dear.’ 

* Let my mother go on reading, and ask all 
your questions afterwards, Lucy,’ said Harry. 

‘ If I can but remember them,’ said Lucy. 

‘ From the foot of the mountain, to the point 
where there is the village called Brundlen, the 
road is tolerably safe. The people can even 
drive their cows up here : but with this pre- 
caution : two men go with the cow, one at the 
head, and the other at the tail, and they hold 
in their hands a long pole, which they keep 
always between the cow and the precipice, so 
as to make a sort of banister, or rail, to pre- 
vent her from falling. 

‘ People are forced to walk very slowly on 
this road. Half way up, you come to a curi- 
ous fir tree. From its trunk, which is eight 
feet in circumference, spread nine branches, 
each about three feet in circumference, and six 
feet long. From the end of each of these 
branches, which are about fifteen feet from 
the ground, there rises perpendicularly, a fir 
tree. This tree looks, in shape, something 
like a great chandelier, with all its candles. 

‘ The village of Brundlen is the highest and 
last village on the mountain. It stands at the 
foot of a rock, from which enormous stones 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


177 


and fragments of rock frequently roll down : 
but the houses are so situated, under the pro- 
jecting part of the rock , that all which falls 
from it, bounds over without touching them. 
The inhabitants of this village possess about 
forty cows. The peasants mow only those 
parts of the mountain, where the cattle cannot 
venture to go to feed. The mowers are let 
down, or drawn up, to these places, by ropes, 
from the top of the rock ; they put the grass, 
when they have mowed it, into nets, which 
are drawn up, or let down, by the same ropes, 
wherever it is wanted. It is remarkable, that 
the kinds of grass and herbs which are found in 
these mountainous places, are quite different 
from those which grow in the low countries/ 

1 My dear children, is it possible, that you 
are interested about these grasses V said their 
mother. 

1 No, mother,’ said Lucy, 1 not much about 
the grasses ; but I like that part about the 
mowers, let down by ropes ; and I like to 
hear it, just as you read it to father/ 

‘ Round some of these stones, which have 
partly fallen, or mouldered away, grows a 
flower, which is a very dangerous poison. At 
four or five feet distance from this plant the 
cattle perceive its smell, and they leave the 
grass around it untouched. The flowers of 
the different kinds of this plant are of a fine 
deep blue, yellow, or white. The white are 
the most uncommon ; and the poison of these, 
it is said, is the most dangerous. Some years 


178 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ago a young man gathered some of these flow- 
ers, and held them in his hand, while he de- 
scended the mountain, to go to a ball. When 
he was near the place where he was to dance, 
he felt, that his hand was numb, and he threw 
away the flowers. He danced, afterwards, 
for an hour or two, with a young woman, 
holding her hand all the time ; he grew warm; 
and the poison, from the poisonous flowers, it 
is supposed, was communicated from his hand 
to hers ; for they both died that night.’ 

Harry and Lucy were shocked at this story. 

‘ But, mother,’ said Harry, 1 do you think 
it is true V 

1 That was the very thing I was consider- 
ing,’ said his mother. 

Then his father and mother began to talk 
about the probability of its being true or false. 

They looked back for the description of the 
flower and for the Latin name, which their 
mother, knowing that the children would not 
understand, had passed over. By comparing 
the name and description of this flower with 
those in botanical books, where the descrip- 
tion and accounts of the properties of plants 
are given, they found that the plant, of which 
they had been reading, was a species of aconite , 
called in English, wolf'' s-banc, or monk's - 
hood , and, as several instances were mentioned 
of its poisonous and fatal effects, they were 
inclined to believe, that the story of the young 
man’s and woman’s death might be true. 

Lucy, seeing, in some of the botanical books 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


179 ' 


in which her mother had been looking, pretty 
colored drawings, or prints of flowers, asked 
whether she might look at them. Her mother 
said, that she might, at some other time, but not 
this evening ; because Lucy could not attend 
both to looking at these prints and to what she 
heard read aloud. So Lucy shut the books, 
and she and Harry put them into their places 
again, in the bookcase, resolving that they 
would look at them, together, the next day. 

1 Now, mother,’ said Harry, as they drew 
their seats close to her, and settled themselves 
again to listen ; 1 now for the shaking stone, 
mother.’ 

Their kind mother began immediately, and 
read on, as follows : — 

1 This stone is at the summit of the mountain 
called the Ober Alp : it overhangs the rock a 
little, and appears as if it would fall : but this 
is really impossible, unless it were thrown 
down by a violent earthquake. The stone is 
as large as a moderate-sized house. When 
any one has the boldness to get upon it to lie 
down, and let their head overhang* the stone, 
they will feel the stone shake, so that it seems 
as if it were going to fall that moment. In 
1744, the stone ceased to shake. About six 
years afterwards, somebody discovered, that 
this arose from a little pebble which had fallen 
through a crack, and had remained under the 
stone. A man fastened a great hammer to a 
pole, and, after frequently striking the pebble 
with the hammer, he succeeded in dislodging 


180 


EARLY LESSONS. 


it. Immediately, the stone began to shake a- 
gain, and has continued ever since to vibrate.’ 

‘ How glad the man, who struck the pebble 
from under the stone, must have been, when 
he saw it begin to shake again !’ said Harry. 
1 I should like to have been that man.’ 

‘ Now I,’ said Lucy, ‘ could not have man- 
aged the great pole and hammer ; and I would 
rather have been the person, who first discov- 
ered, that the pebble had got under the stone, 
and that it was the cause, which prevented 
the stone from shaking.’ 

‘ O, but any body, who had eyes, could 
have seen that.,’ said Harry. 

‘ And yet all those people, who lived in that 
country, had eyes, I suppose,’ said Lucy ; ‘ but 
they were six years before they saw it.-’ 

‘ They had eyes and no eyes’ said her 
mother, smiling. 

‘ That is true ; I understand what you mean, 
mother,’ said Lucy. ‘ 1 have read ‘ Eyes and 
no Eyes,’ in Evenings at Home ; and I like 
it very much. But will you go on, mother, if 
there is any thing more that is entertaining?’ 

‘ There is something more, that, perhaps, 
would entertain- you,’ said her mother ; ‘ but 
I will not read any more to you to-night, be- 
cause it is time for you to go to bed.’ 

‘ To-morrow night, mother, will you read 
some more to us V 

1 1 will not promise, my dear — perhaps, I 
may have something else to do — or, perhaps, 
you may not deserve it so well to-morrow. 


HARRY AJSTD LUCY. 181 

When to-morrow night comes, it will he time 
enough to give you an answer.’ 


The next morning, when Harry and Lucy 
went into their father’s room, they took care 
to have the bladder and the bellows ready by 
the time that he was up, as he had promised 
to show them some experiments. 

1 Now,’ said he,‘ we will fill this bladder with 
air, by blowing air into it with the bellows.’ 

He put the end of the bellows into the neck 
of the bladder, and bid Harry hold the blad- 
der, and Lucy blow the bellows. 

{ It is now quite full, father,’ said Lucy : 1 1 
will tie the air in, with a waxed string round 
the neck of the bladder. I know how to do that 
— Look, how full, and round and tight it is.’ 

1 So it is,’ said her father ; 1 but now I 
want to let out some of the air* that is in this 
bladder, without letting out all of it: how 
shall I do that V 

1 I do not know,’ said Lucy; ‘ for, if I untie 
this string, I am afraid all the air, that is in 
the bladder now, would come out.’ 

‘ That it certainly would,’ said her father. 

1 How shall we manage it V repeated Harry 
and Lucy : after considering for some time, 
Harry observed, that, beyond the place where 
the bladder was tied, there was enough of the 
neck of the bladder left to admit the nose of 
the bellows : he proposed, that they should 
put in the end of the bellows, and tie the blad- 


182 


EARLY LESSONS. 



der round it, and then untie that string with 
which they had at first tied the neck of the 
bladder. His father said, that this would do, 
but he could show him what would do better. 
He gave him a little piece of wood, about two 
inches long, that had a wooden stopper at one 
end, that could be easily put into the pipe, and 
easily taken out. He told Harry, that this kind 
of pipe and stopper are called a spigot and 
faucet : he fastened the faucet into the neck 
of the bladder, so that he could stop the air 
from coming out of the bladder when it was 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


183 


full, and he could at any time let out the air, 
by taking away the peg, or spigot. Then he 
let out a great part of the air that was in the 
bladder, till it was nearly empty, stopped the 
faucet again with the spigot, and then carried 
the bladder to the fire. 

‘ Now you will see,’ said their father, ‘ that 
the heat of the fire will swell the small quan- 
tity of air remaining in the bladder, till it will 
fill as great a space, as that which was filled 
by all the air, which we forced into it at first 
with the bellows. Here, Harry, take this to 
the fire, while I shave myself.’ 

The children held the bladder near the fire, 
but it did not swell out immediately ; and, 
after they had held it a few minutes, they be- 
gan to think, that it would never do, as Harry 
said. His father told him, that he must not be 
so impatient, if he intended to try experi- 
ments. 

{ If you are tired of holding the bladder,’ said 
he, ‘ put it down on the hearth, leave it there, 
and go and do, or think of something else ; 
and, in about a quarter of an hour, perhaps, 
it will begin to swell out.’ 

c A quarter of an hour ! that is a great while 
indeed !’ said Harry. 

However, the quarter of an hour passed, 
while the children were putting some little 
drawers of their father in order. When they 
returned, to look at the bladder, they saw that 
it was beginning to swell, and they watched it, 
while it gradually swelled. First one fold of 


184 


EARLY LESSONS. 


the bag opened, then another, till, at last, it was 
again swelled out into the shape of a globe. 

‘ This is very extraordinary !’ said Lucy, 
{ that the little, the very little air, which father 
left in the bladder, should have swelled out to 
this size, without any thing being added to it.’ 

I Without any thing being added to it ! ? re- 
peated her father : 1 think again, my dear.’ 

I I have thought again , father ; but, I as- 
sure you, nothing was added to the air ; for we 
never opened the bladder, after you put in the 
— what do you call it ! — which fastens it.’ 

‘ The spigot,’ said Harry. 

£ The spigot,’ said Lucy. ‘ Well, father, 1 
say, nothing was added to the air.’ 

‘ I say, daughter, you are mistaken.’ 

£ Why, father, we did nothing in the world 
but hold the bladder to the fire, and leave it 
before the fire, and nobody touched it, nor put 
any thing to it, nor near it !’ 

Still her father said — 1 Think again, Lucy.’ 

She recollected herself, and exclaimed — 

1 I know what you mean now, father — 
heat — heat was added to it !’ 

‘ Yes,’ said her father, ‘ heat mixed with 
the air of the bladder ; and, by separating the 
parts of the air from each other, made them 
take up more room. Now take the bladder 
into a cold place ; hang it up near the win- 
dow, and let us see what will happen.’ 

‘ I know what will happen, father,’ said 
Lucy. ‘ When the air in the bladder grows 
cold, it will take up less room*.’ ' 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


185 


* It will contract,’ interrupted Harry. 

‘ And then,’ continued Lucy, ‘ the bladder 
will shrink, and become less and less, and it 
will fall in folds, in a kind of loose bag, just 
as it was before we carried it to the fire. I 
shall like to see whether this will happen just 
as I think it will.’ 

Lucy hung up the bladder in a cold place, 
and watched it for a few minutes ; but she 
did not perceive any immediate alteration. 

‘ It will be as long in shrinking as it was in 
swelling out,’ said she ; 4 and breakfast will 
be ready, I am afraid, before it shrinks.’ 

1 I know a way of making it shrink quick- 
ly,’ cried Harry. 

I What is it V 

I I will not tell you, but I will show you,’ said 
Harry. 1 You shall see what — you shall see.’ 

He ran out of the room, and soon returned 
with his little watering-pot full of cold water. 

1 Now, Lucy,’ said he, ‘ hold the basin for 
me under the bladder, that we may not wet 
the floor — hold it steady.’ 

He poured cold water from the nose of the 
watering-pot, so as to sprinkle the water all 
over the bladder, and immediately the bladder 
began to collapse, or shrink ; and soon, to Lu- 
cy’s delight, it was diminished to the size of 
which it had been before it was carried to the 
fire, and it hung like a loose or flaccid bag. 

1 Father, look !’ said she, 1 look how much 
less room the bladder takes up now !’ 

16 


186 


EARLY LESSONS. 


‘ Then,’ said her father, ‘ something must 
have been taken away from what was with- 
inside of it.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Lucy. 

1 What was taken away V 
1 Heat.’ replied Lucy. 

1 What took away the heat V 
1 Cold water.’ 

‘ How did that happen V 
Lucy answered, she believed that the heat 
went into the water — that the water must 
have taken away the heat of the air that 
was within the bladder. 

‘ Attracted !’ cried Harry : £ you should say, 
that the water attracted the heat from the air.’ 

‘ Well, attracted,’ said Lucy : — £ first, I sup- 
pose, the bladder itself became warm, by touch- 
ing the warm air withinside of it : then the 
water took, or attracted — as you tell me I 
must say — some of the heat from the bladder : 
then the bladder attracted some more heat 
from the inside air : and so on.’ 

1 Accurately stated, Lucy,’ said her father j 
‘ Now you have thought enough of all these 

things Stay ! — before you go, tell me 

what you have learned from the experiments 
you have tried this morning.’ 

1 Experiments, father !’ said Lucy, smiling, 
and looking surprised — £ I did not think we 
had been trying experiments ! — I thought, 
that only grown up people, and philosophers, 
could try experiments.’ 

‘ There you were mistaken, my dear,’ said 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


187 


ner father ; 1 an experiment is only a trial of 
any thing, or something done to find out what 
will be the consequence. You carried the 
bladder to the fire, or poured cold water upon 
it, to find out what would happen to the air 
withinside of it. Children can try some ex- 
periments, as well as grown up people can.’ 

1 Father,’ cried Harry, 1 I have heard you 
talk of Dr. Franklin ’ 

1 And of Newton,’ said Lucy, ‘ I heard some- 
thing ’ 

‘ Very likely, my dear/ interrupted her fa- 
ther ; ‘ but do not fly off to Dr. Franklin and 
Newton, till you have answered the question I 
asked you just now. What have you learned 
from the experiments you tried this morning?’ 

After Lucy had recollected what she had 
seen and heard, she answered ; — 1 I have 
learnt, that heat expanded, or spread out, the 
air in this bladder ; and that cold ’ 

1 That is, the want of heat,’ interrupted 
her father. 

4 That cold, or the want of heat, made or 
let the air in the bladder grow smaller.’ 

1 Contract,’ said Harry. 

1 The same effects would be produced by ta- 
king away heat, not only from the air in that 
bladder, but from all air,’ said their father. 

‘ Now put the bladder in the place where you 
found it, and let us divert ourselves with 
something else. Can you cut capers, Harry V 

1 Yes, father ; but first I want to say some- 
thing : — How very little we learn every mom- 


188 


EARLY LESSONS. 


ing ! I looked at your watch, when I came 
into your room, and it was just half after eight 
o’clock, and now it is nine. So tve have been 

here half an hour Half an hour ! — I can 

scarcely believe that we have been here so 
long, father V 

1 Then you have not been tired, Harry V 

1 No, not at all : — But I am afraid, father, 
that, if we learn so very little every day, we 
shall never get on.’ 

1 You need not be afraid of that, my dear : 
learning a little, a very little, accurately, every 
day, is better than learning a great deal 
inaccurately.’ 

1 A little and a little, every day regularly, 
make a great deal in many days,’ said Lucy. 
* I have found this to be true, when I have 
been at work, and when I have done but 
very little each day.’ 

1 But when shall we get to the barometer V 
said Harry. 

‘O ! is that what you mean V said his father. 
‘Patience, my boy ! — Patience till to-morrow V 

1 Patience till to-morrow I must have, for I 
cannot help it,’ said Harry, sighing — ‘ I wish 
to-day was over.’ 

‘ No,’ said Lucy, ‘you need not wish to-day 
was over. Recollect, brother, that we have 
a great many pleasant things to do to-day. 
I am sure, Harry, you cannot wish, that this 
evening was over, because you know — 
though mother did not promise it — if we 
deserve it — as I am sure we shall — she will 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


189 



read to us some more of that man’s en- 
tertaining travels.’ 

During this day, Harry and Lucy were at- 
tentive to every thing, that they had to do. It 
snowed, so that, after they had finished their 
lessons, they could not go out, of take as much 
exercise as usual ; but they warmed them- 
selves by playing at hide and seek, and at 
battledore and shuttlecock, and at ball, at 
which they were allowed to play, in an empty 
gallery, where they could do no mischief. 


190 


EARLY LESSONS. 


The evening came, and they were eager to 
know whether their mother would read to 
them this night. She smiled, when Lucy 
brought the book to her, and said — • 

‘ Yes, my dears, you have both been atten- 
tive to every thing you had to do to-day, and 
I shall be glad to give you this pleasure ; 
but, first, I must write a letter.’ 

‘ While you are writing, mother,’ said 
Lucy, ‘ may we try if we can make out any 
of this French ? here is something, that you 
missed, about la statue et la caverne — the 
statue and the cavern — which looks as if it 
was entertaining : and I wish I could make 
it out — May I try, mother V 

1 Yes, my dear, provided you do not turn me 
into a dictionary ; because I cannot write my 
letter, and be your dictionary at the same time.’ 

Without their mother’s assistance, Harry 
and Lucy made out, pretty well, the sense of 
what they wanted to read ; and, as soon as 
their mother had finished her letter, Lucy be- 
gan to tell her all, that they had translated. 

1 We have found out, mother, that it is an 
account of a man of the name of Huber, who 
wanted to go into a cavern, in a rock of black, 
or blackish stpne ( noiratre ,) to see a statue 
called Dominique , which was of white stone, 
and seemed to be about thirty feet high — above 
twice as high as this room, mother ! But no 
one had ever been able to get to this statue, 
the way to it was so dangerous ; they could, 
however, distinguish plainly, that it was the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 191 

figure of a man — doing something on a ta- 
ble— 

‘ Jiccoude sur une table.’ 

‘ Mother, you must, if you please, be so 
good, as to tell us what accoudt is ; for we 
could not find it in the dictionary.’ 

‘ It is just what Harry is doing at this mo- 
ment — leaning his elbows on the table.’ 

{ O, now I understand it perfectly. The 
figure of a man leaning with his elbows on 
the table, his legs crossed, and seeming to 
guard the entrance of this cavern. Well, 
n^a’am, nobody had ever been able to get to 
his statue — I told you that.’ 

‘ True, my dear ; therefore you need not 
tell it to me again.’ 

‘ Very well, ma’am — but this man, of the 
name of Huber, who was a very courageous 
person, was determined to get to the statue. 
So, finding that he could not clamber up from 
the bottom of this rock, he had himself let 
down from the top, by a long, a very long 
rope, which he tied, I suppose, round his body; 
but it does not say so. When he was let 
down — What do you think he found ? — He 
found — How provoking ! — that the rock over- 
hung the cavern so much, that, as he hung 
down this way, like a plumb line , as Harry 
says, he never could reach the entrance of the 
cavern, which was far in, far under the rock ; 
so he was forced to call to the people to draw 
him up again. But he had seen enough to be 
almost sure,, the statue was really a statue of 


192 


EARLY LESSONS. 


a man, and not a white stone that looked like 

a man, as some people thought it was So 

— then there is something about the statue’s 
not being ‘ Vouvrage fortuit de la nature 7 — 
that we could not understand, so we missed 
it. So the man, Huber, got a pole, to the end 
of which he fastened a hook, which he thought 
he could hook into the rock, and pull himself 
closer and closer to the entrance of the cav- 
ern, and so get in So 7 

‘ But, my dear, leave out so — do not sew 
your story together so. 1 

‘ So, ma’am 1 mean — he was let down 

a second time — but, O ! now, ma’am, the ter- 
rible thing ! — the rope twisted and twisted 
continually; his weight was more than the 
rope could bear, and it broke, and he fell, and 
was dashed to pieces !’ 

1 Poor man ! Was not he very courageous, 
father ?’ said Harry ; 1 I admire him very 
much. 7 

‘ He was courageous, certainly,’ said Har- 
ry’s father ; 1 but, before we admire him very 
much, we should consider what his motive 
was, or what good he could do by hazarding 
his life. If it was with the hope of being of 
any great service to himself, or to any one 
else ; if it was to accomplish any useful or 
generous purpose, I should admire a man for 
risking his life ; but I cannot admire him for 
running the chance of breaking his neck, 
merely to see a statue ; or to find out wheth- 
er it w: s the statue of a manor a white 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


193 


stone. I remember, that, when I was at Clif- 
ton, some years ago, a boy was dashed to pie- 
ces by falling from a high rock, to which he 
had climbed, to look for a bird’s nest. A few 
days after this accident happened, I saw an- 
other boy climb to the same place, in search of 
the same nest — This was folly, not courage.’ 

‘ It was, indeed,’ said Harry. ‘ But, 
mother, will you be so kind, to lead on V 
1 Next comes,’ said their mother, 1 an ac- 
count of the traveller’s finding, in the wildest 
part of the mountain, a hut, inhabited by ten 
or twelve children, who lived there with a 
dog, who looked more savage than themselves. 
They took care of a flock of goats, and lived 
chiefly on the milk of the goats. As soon* as 
a stranger appeared on this part of the moun- 
tain, the children ran away, and shut them- 
selves up in their hut, and sent their dog after 
him — a dog he might be called, because he 
barked, but he was a peculiar and hideous 

looking creature ’ 

1 Is this all, mother,’ said Lucy, as her mo- 
ther stopped, ‘ all that the man tells about the 

children l 1 wish he had told more — I 

want to know how these children lived togeth- 
er, and whether they quarrelled, like those* 
in 1 The Children'’ s Friend ,’ who asked their, 
father to let them live by themselves, and gov- 
ern themselves for one day Only for one. 

day ! — and what difficulties they got into 1’ 

* Les enfanb qui veulent se gouverner. 

17 


194 


EARLY LESSONS. 


‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘ but those children made 
themselves sick, hy eating and drinking too 
much, and they quarrelled because they had 
nothing to do, but to play all day long : hut 
there was no danger, that these poor children 
on the mountain should eat too much, for they 
had scarcely any thing but goats’ milk ; and 
they must have had enough to do, as there 
was no one to do any thing for them — But, 
father,’ continued Harry, after thinking for a 
minute, ‘ I want to know who was king 
•among them, and I want to know what laws 
they made for themselves, and what punish- 
ments they had ; for they could not have gone 
on long without some laws, I am sure.’ 

4 Pray, what would have been your laws, 
Harry V said his father — ‘ 1 give you a week 
to consider of it — you and Lucy may consult 

together Now let us go on with ‘ The 

Traveller' s Wonders .’ 

‘ I do not find any thing else worth reading to 
you, my dears,’ said their mother, ‘ except an 
account of the manner in which these moun- 
taineers are taught to walk in dangerous pla- 
ces ; and an account of the honesty of the 
people, in preserving, for the hunters, the 
game, which belongs to them.’ 

* Ha ! I shall like to hear that ; we must 
remember honesty , the first thing in oui 
daws,’ said Harry. 

‘ There are six hunters, who divide among 
themselves, and among the inhabitants of the 
mountain, all the game which they kill ; 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


195 


and, in return, they are fed for nothing in the 
cottages. They undergo great labor, and go 
into dangerous places, in pursuit of the goats 
and cocks of the wood. When these animals 
are shot, they often roll down from the high- 
est rocks, to the vallies beneath ; and the 
peasants, who live in these vallies, when 
they find these dead birds and beasts, take 
care of them, and faithfully return them to 
the hunters. If this was not done, the hun- 
ters would be obliged to walk many miles, 
to pick up the game, which they kill. You 
see, that this honesty is useful to all the 
people who practise it — so is honesty in all 
cases : therefore, Harry, I think you will do 
right to remember it first in your laws.’ 

‘ So I will,’ said Harry. ‘ But now, mother, 
will you go on to the part, which tells how 
the people learn to walk in dangerous pla- 
ces V 

‘ 1 am afraid it is too late to read any more 
to-night,’ answered his mother — looking at 
her watch. 1 Good-night, my dear children 
— We must put off the account of the walk- 
ing. till another time.’ 


END OF PART III. 


196 


HARRY AND LUCY. 

PART IV. 


1 Now for the barometer !’ said Harry, as he 
went into his father’s room in the morning. 

1 Not yet, my dear boy,’ said his father ; 
‘ you must know something more, before you 
can understand the barometer.’ 

Harry looked disappointed for a moment ; 
but, recovering himself, he turned to observe 
what his father was doing. He was filling the 
bladder with water, to measure how much it 
would hold : it held five quarts, that is, ten 
pints. £ If you fill it ever so often, you can- 
not force more water into that bladder, can 
you V said his father. 

‘ No, certainly not ; for, if we try to put in 
any more water, it will run over,’ said Lucy. 

‘ Then you find,’ said her father, £ that we 
cannot force the parts of water nearer to each 
other, as you did those of air — water differs 
from air, in this respect.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Lucy, ‘ for, when you poured wa- 
ter upon the bladder, the air withinside took 
up less room than before ; therefore, the parts 
of the air must have come nearer together.’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. 197 

‘•But perhaps, father,’ said Harry, 1 if this 
bladder was strong enough to hear our pressing 
water into it, we could force more in : if you 
were to take an iron vessel, and try to force 
water into it. would it not be possible to 
squeeze the parts of the water closer together, 
by pressing down the top of the vessel V 

1 No, my dear,’ continued his father ; 1 if a 
vessel had a top, made to screw into its mouth, 
to fit it exactly ; and if water was poured 
into the vessel, till it came to the very mouth 
of it, you could not squeeze the water down 
by screwing the top on. If you force the cover 
to screw on, the water will make its way 
through the screw, till the cover is screwed 
quite down, or it will burst the vessel.’ 

‘ Burst the vessel !’ cried Lucy — 1 an iron 
vessel, father ! — Is that possible ? — I should 

like to see that experiment But I believe it 

would be dangerous, because when the iron 
vessel bursts, the- bits of it might be thrown 
against us, and hurt us — Father, I remem- 
ber your giving mother an account of some 
vessel, that burst, from having too much hot 
water — too much steam, I mean, in it.’ 

1 Yes, because heat was added to the water,’ 
said Harry. ‘ Water, in the tea-kettle,' boils 
over , when it is made very hot ; and I sup- 
pose, that, if the top of the tea-kettle was 
screwed down so tight, that no steam could 
get out, and if the spout was stopped in such 
a manner that the steam could not come out 
there, the tea-kettle would burst.’ 


198 


EARLY LESSONS. 


‘Yes,’ answered his father. 

‘ Then there is a way of swelling water by 
heat V said Lucy. 

‘ It is not the water that swells,’ said her 
father : ‘ while it continues water, it does not 
swell ; but, when heat mixes with it, or when 
it becomes what we call steam, or vapor, 
then it swells, and takes up a great deal more 
room than it did before.’ 

‘ But there was something I was in a great 
hurry to say,’ cried Lucy, ‘ and now I have 
forgotten it — Talking of the boiling over of 
the tea-kettle put it out of my head.” 

‘ You mean the boiling over of the water 
in the tea-kettle,’ said her father. 

‘ Yes, father ; but what was I thinking 
of V said Lucy. 

‘ Recollect,’ said her father, ‘ what you were 
thinking of, just before we spoke of the tea- 
kettle ; and then, perhaps, you may recollect 
what you want to remember.’ 

‘ We were talking of the swelling, or not 
swelling of water, by heat — O, I recollect what 
it was !’ said Lucy — ‘ I know a way, father, of 
swelling, or expanding water without heat.’ 

‘ What is that way V said Harry. 

‘ There is a way, I assure you, brother ; 
and you know it, or, at least, you have seen 

it, as well as I Don’t you know, that, 

when water is frozen, it swells V 

I How do you know that, sister V 

I I know, that bottles, filled with water, of- 
ten burst, when it freezes,’ said Lucy : * I 


HARR? AND LUCY. 


199 


assure you, I have seen the water bottle in 
my room broken by the frost.’ 

‘ That bottle had a very narrow neck,’ said 
Harry ; ‘ bottles, or jugs, that are as wide at 
the mouth, or wider than elsewhere, do not 
burst, when the water withinside of them is 
frozen — the jug in my room never bursts, 
though the water is often frozen in it.’ 

1 What is the reason of that, do you think?’ 
said her father. 

‘ Because there is room for the ice to ex- 
pand,’ said Lucy. 

‘ But does the ice expand, father V said 
Harry. 

His father answered — ‘ At the moment of 
freezing, the parts of ice are found to be far- 
ther from one another, than the parts of the 
water were.’ 

‘ Does cold get between the parts of the 
water V said Lucy. 

‘ No, no,’ said Harry — ‘cold is not a (king ; 
father told us, that it is only a word, that ex- 
presses want of heat.’ 

‘ Call it what you will,’ said Lucy, ‘but still 
I do not understand. — What is it, father, that 
gets between the parts of the ice, and makes it 
take up more room at the moment it freezes V 

‘ I do not know, my dear,’ said her father. 

‘ You don’t know, father ! — I thought you 
knew every thing.’ 

‘ No, my dear,’ said her father — ‘ There 
are a great many things of which I know as 
little as you do — It is difficult to know 


200 


EARLY LESSONS. 


any thing well. Upon this very subject, of 
which you were speaking, there are different 
opinions, and I do not like to tell you any 
thing, of which I am not sure/ 

‘ But, father,’ continued Lucy, c one thing 
you can tell me, or 1 can tell you, that ice is 
the same thing as water, and water is the 
same thing as ice, is not it so ? except that 
one is fluid and the other solid.’ 

1 Not quite the same — water is ice, with 
heat added to it, and a little air.’ 

‘ Then I should have thought,’ said Lucy, 

1 that water ought to take up more room than 
ice.’ 

1 Why, my dear V 

1 Because water is ice and something more 
— -something added to it. W e saw, when we 
heated the bladder, that hot air took up more 
room than cold air, because it was air, and 
something added to it ; for the same reason, I 
should have thought, that, if you add heat to 
ice, and so turn it into water again, that the wa- 
ter should take up more room than the ice ; be- 
cause, Isay? cried Lucy, struggling to explain 
herself, ‘ the water is ice, and something more 
— heat is added to it, you know.’ 

‘ I understand you, my dear,’ said her fa- 
ther, 1 and what you say is very reasonable. 
I should have thought as you do, if I had not 
seen the experiment tried ; but we find, from 
experience, that this is not the case. How- 
ever, try the experiment for yourself.’ 

‘ So I will, father.’ cried Lucy. So we will, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


201 


and this very night too, if it freezes : and I 
hope it will freeze ; for, though I don’t like the 
cold, I shall like very much to try this experi- 
ment; and I have a little bottle, and I will fill it 
with water, put it out of my window, and in the 
morning I dare say we shall find it burst.’ 

{ So it will,’ said Harry, ‘ if the neck is 
narrow.’ 

‘ But,’ said his father, 1 1 can give you a 
bottle with a very wide neck : if you fill this 
with water, up to the neck, either the bottle 
will break, or the ice will not only fill the 
bottle, but will shoot up through the neck of 
the bottle, like a stopper.’ 

1 But what you wanted to try, I thought, 
was, whether water takes up less room than 
ice,’ said Harry ; 1 so, to make the proof quite 
exact, you should take the very ice, that has 
been frozen in the bottle, and melt it, that is, 
put heat to it : and then, when it is water 
again, try whether it takes up more or less 
room, or the same, that it did before.’ 

1 Remember, you must melt it with a gentle 
heat, else the heat might evaporate some of 
the water,’ said their father. 

1 We will take care, father,’ and we will 
try all this,’ said Lucy. C 1 love trying exper- 
iments, especially when we do it together, 
and when you, father, are interested about 
them, as we go on.’ 

£ Yes, and I love to have something to do, 
and something to think of,’ said Harry. 

‘ And something to feel eager to go to again 


202 


EARLY LESSONS. 



the next day,’ said Lucy. 1 1 like to feel cu- 
rious to know how the thing will turn out.’ 

£ Well, now turn out of my way, my dear,’ 
said her father, 1 for you are so close to my 
elbow, that I cannot whet my razor.' 

It happened this day, that Lucy found, in 
one of her drawers, a number of horse-chest- 
nuts, which she had collected in the autumn, 
and which she had intended to plant ; but, 
having forgotten them, they had lain in this 
drawer for nearly six weeks, and they had 
become a little mouldy. Lucy, finding that 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


203 


they were spoilt, threw them into the fire. 
A few minutes after she had thrown them into 
the fire, she was startled by hearing a noise, 
as loud as the noise made by a pop-gun ; and 
she saw bits of coal, and fire, and chestnut, 
thrown out on the carpet, to the distance of a 
yard from the hearth. While she was stoop- 
ing to pick up these bits, another pop was 
heard, another chestnut burst, and more bits 
of cqal, on fire, were thrown out, and one of 
them hit her arm and burnt her a little. No- 
body was with her — She ran into the next 
room directly, knowing that her father was 
there, and she called him, and told him what 
had happened, and asked him what she should 
do. He went immediately, and took all the 
chestnuts out of the fire. Harry and his 
mother came while he was doing this ; they 
were glad that Lucy was not much hurt, and 
that no mischief had been done. Her father 
then explained to her the cause of what had 
happened ; he told her, that the heat of the 
fire, mixing with the water in the wet, or 
mouldy chestnuts, had turned the water in- 
to steam, which takes up more room than 
water ; and that the steam, being confined by 
the outside skin of the chestnuts, had, to 
make room for itself, burst through that skin, 
and had caused this sudden explosion. 

After having explained this to Lucy, her fa- 
ther gave her an account of an accident, which 
had happened to him, when he was a child. 
He told her, that he had thought that he could 


204 


EARLY LESSONS. 


make a large lead pencil, such as he had seen 
used for ruling children’s copy books; accord- 
ingly, he put some lead into a fire-shovel, and 
bid his sister hold it over the fire to melt. In 
the mean time, he fixed upright a bit of elder 
tree, out of which part of the pith had been 
scooped. The wood was pot quite dry. When 
the lead was melted, he took the shovel from 
his sister, and poured it into the hole, in the 
piece of elder, from which the pith had been 
scooped : but, to his great surprise and terror, 
the melted lead was driven out of the wood 
with such force, as actually to strike against 
the cieling. None of the lead struck his face ; 
but, had he been looking over it, probably 
his eyes would have been burnt out. 

1 So you see, my dear Lucy,’ concluded her 
father, ‘ that it is particularly necessary, that 
children should be careful in trying experi- 
ments, as they are not acquainted with the na- 
ture or properties of the things, with which 
they meddle. When I filled the bit of wet elder 
wood with hot lead, I did not know, or recol- 
lect, that the heat of the lead would turn the 
water into steam, and the expanding suddenly 
of this steam would cause an explosion.’ 

This story brought to Harry’s recollection an 
account, which his mother had read to him, of 
another accident. Lucy had not been present 
when this was read, and her brother now ran 
for the book, and showed her the passage. She 
began to read — and it was as follows : — 

‘ At the cannon foundery in Moorfields — * 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


205 


Lucy stopped at the first line, and said, that 
she did not know what was meant by a cannon 
foundery, and she did not know where Moor- 
fields is. Her father told her, that Moorfields 
is the name of a part of London ; and that a 
cannon foundery is a place, where cannon are 
made ; a foundery is a place where metals are 
melted, and cast into different shapes. The 
word is taken from the French word fondre , 
to melt.- Lucy had seen a cannon ; there- 

fore now she quite understood this first line of 
what she was going to read : Harry was 
rather impatient, at her requiring so long an 
explanation ; but her father said she was 
right, not to go on, without understanding 
completely what she heard. Lucy then 
read — 

1 At the cannon foundery, in Moorfields, hot 
metal was poured into a mould, that acciden- 
tally contained a small quantity of water, 
which was instantly converted into steam, 
and caused an explosion, that blew the foun- 
dery to pieces. A similar accident happened 
at a foundery in Newcastle, which occurred 
from a little water having insinuated itself 
into a hollow brass ball, that was thrown into 
the melting pot.’ 

Lucy was astonished to hear, that water, 
when turned into steam, could have such 
force ; — from the facts, which she had just 
heard and read, she perceived, that it is neces- 
sary to be careful, in trying experiments, and 
that it is useful to know the properties of 


206 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


bodies, that we may avoid hurting either our- 
selves or other people. 

This evening it was a frost. Harry and 
Lucy saw, that the quicksilver in the ther- 
mometer was at the freezing 'point. They de- 
termined now to try the experiments, which 
they wished to try, about ice and water. Their 
father gave them a wide-necked bottle, and 
Harry filled it up to the bottom of the neck, 
leaving the neck empty, but he did not cork it. 
At the same time, Lucy took a common laven- 
der-water bottle, that had wide shoulders, and 
a very narrow neck ; this she also filled up to 
the bottom of the neck, leaving the neck emp- 
ty. Harry next filled a common phial bottle 
up to the mouth, stopped it closely with a 
cork, and tied the cork down strongly to the 
neck of the bottle. They hung all these 
bottles out of doors, on the same place, on the 
north side of the house. 

Their father went this day to dine with a 
friend, at some distance from home ; he was 
not to return till the next day, at dinner time ; 
so that, the next morning, before breakfast, 
they missed their accustomed lesson from 
their father, for which they were sorry. Lucy 
observed, that her father’s room looked dismal 
without him, and, as there was an unusual 
silence there, which the children did not like, 
they went off to the gallery, and comforted 
themselves, by making as much noise as 
possible, galloping up and down the gallery, 
and playing at hare and hound. It was 


EARLY LESSONS. 


207 


snowing, so that they could not go out to 
look at their bottles, and it continued to 
snow for some hours, till long after the time, 
when they had finished the day’s lessons 
with their mother. 

At last the snow ceased ; and, as the sun 
began to shine, the children were now afraid, 
that the water in their bottles might, if it had 
been frozen, be soon thawed, therefore they 
put on their hats and great coats as fast as they 
could, and ran out to the wall, on the north 
side of the house, and to the place where they 
had hung up their three bottles the preceding 
day. They found, that the lavender-water 
bottle, and the bottle that was tightly corked, 
were broken ; but the bottle with the wide 
mouth had not been broken. The ice had 
swelled out through the neck of the bottle, and 
some way above it, looking like a stopper. 
This bottle they brought into their mother’s 
dressing room, who put it upon a saucer, in a 
warm place, and they left it there, that the ice 
might melt. In the mean time, they went to 
help their mother to paste some prints into a 
large paper book. They were longer at this 
work than they had expected to be ; they had 
but just finished it, when the dressing-bell 
rang, they then recollected suddenly their ex- 
periment, and they said they must go and look 
whether the ice was melted ; but their hands 
were now covered with paste, and their 
mother advised them first to wash their hands 
and dress themselves, that they might bo 


208 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


sure to be ready, before their father should 
come home to dinner. 

Harry and Lucy ran away, saying, 1 Which 
will be dressed first?’ — And in a few minutes 
they came hurrying from their different rooms, 
eager to get to their mother’s dressing-room. 

‘I’m ready ! I was here before you !’ cried 
Harry, bursting in. 

1 Gently, gently, my dear Harry,’ said his 
mother, 1 and shut the door after you.’ 

‘ Lucy’s coming in, ma’am — Ha ! Lucy, I 
was here first.’ 

‘ But I had a great deal more to do, broth- 
er,’ said Lucy. 

Her mother turned and looked at her, as 
she came into the room, and observed, that 
Lucy’s hair was not combed smoothly, and 
that one of her shoes was untied — 

‘ And your hands, Lucy ?’ said her mother, 
1 they are not clean — What is all this upon 
your hands ?’ 

1 Only the paste, ma’am, with which I was 
pasting those prints ; but I did wash my 
hands, I assure you, mother.’ 

‘ Yes ; but you did not wash them well, I 
assure you, daughter — so go and wash them 
again, before you do any thing else ; you 
must not neglect to keep yourself clean and 
neat. This pocket-hole of your frock is torn 
almost from the top to the bottom.’ 

4 Yes, mother ; I tore it as I was coming down 
stairs ; it caught upon a nail in the passage.’ 

‘ Go and put on another frock, and mend 


EARLY LESSONS. 


209 


this pocket-hole, before you do any thing 
else, Lucy,’ said her mother : — { It is more 
necessary, that a girl should be clean and 
r*eat, than that she should try experiments.’ 

Lucy blushed, and went away to do what 
her mother desired. 

‘ Mother, I am sure it Avas partly my fault,’ 
said Harry, ‘ because I hurried her too much ; 
but, to make amends, I know what I will do 
for her.’ 

Then he ran for a pair of pincers, which 
his father had given to him ; with some little 
difficulty he took the nail out, on which Lu- 
cy’s gown had been caught ; and, with some 
little difficulty, Lucy A\ r ashed the paste off 
her hands, and mended her gown. 

When they went to look at their experiment, 
they found that the ice, which, they had left 
in the bottle, was quite melted, and that the 
water had sunk to the place, where it had 
been before it was frozen. The top of the 
water just came to the bottom of the neck of 
the bottle. So they were convinced that wa- 
ter takes up less room than ice ; or, in other 
words, that water, Avhen it is frozen, takes up 
more room, than it does Avhen it is not 
frozen. 

When their father came home this day to 
dinner, Harry and Lucy told him the result , 
or end, of their experiments ; and they said, 
that the experiments had turned out, just as 
he had foretold that they would. Their father 
said, that he was glad that they had tried tho 
18 


210 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


experiments, and had satisfied themselves of 
the truth. 

After dinner, the children ran eagerly for the 
wide-necked bottle, that they might show 
their father, that the water was realty exactly 
at the place, where it was before it had been 
frozen. They had left the bottle on the 
hearth, in their mother’s dressing-room ; and, 
as they knew, exactly the spot where they 
had left it, they thought they could find it 
without a candle, especially as they expected 
that there would he a little glimmering light 
from the fire in the dressing-room. However 
the fire, being almost out, they could scarcely 
see their way. They felt about, near the 
corner of the chimney, but no bottle was 
there ; they felt water on the hearth. 

‘ O ! our bottle is broken !’ exclaimed Lu- 
cy — 1 Who has done this V 

1 Are you sure it is broken ? — May be it is 
not,’ said Harry ; £ I will open the shutters, 
and then we shall see by the moonlight.’ 

He drew up the curtain, unbarred and open- 
ed the shutters ; then they saw, alas ! that 
their bottle was broken. The dog was lying 
before the fire, and, in taking his customary 
place, had thrown down the bottle. 

‘ O, our dear, dear wide-necked bottle, 
with which I intended to do so many things !’ 
cried Lucy. 

1 Fie ! fie ! naughty dog ! — down ! — down, 
sirrah !’ cried Harry, as the dog, now wa- 


EARLY LESSONS. 211 

kening, attempted to leap up and caress him 
— Down, sirrah !’ 

1 But don’t call him sirrah ! Don’t be in 
passion with him,’ said Lucy : — •* He did not 
know— he did not mean to do us any harm ; 
it was our fault, for leaving the bottle here, 
just in his way. Come here, poor fellow,’ 
added she, as the dog was slinking away 
ashamed. Harry, ashamed too of his anger, 
joined Lucy in patting him, and both he and 
his sister were now pleased with themselves, 
for bearing their disappointment with good 
humor. The moon shone full on the window, 
and Harry, as he went to close the shutters 
again, called Lucy to look at 4 the beautiful 
blue sky, and the glorious number of bright 
stars in the heavens.’ 

Lucy, as she looked and admired them, 
recollected something she had read, in Sand- 
ford and Merton, about the names and places 
of the stars ; the pole star , and Charles's 
wain , and the great bear , and the little bear. 
At the time when she had read it, she had 
not understood it, because she had never ob- 
served the places of the stars in the sky ; but 
this night, she and Harry read over that part 
of Sandford and Merton again ; and, when 
they looked at the stars, and compared them 
with the description, they understood it per- 
fectly. They went on to read the account of 
the use, which little Sandford made of his 
knowledge of the stars, when he lost his way 


212 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


one night in crossing a great moor, between 
his father’s house and his uncle’s. 

Harry and Lucy were glad, that they had 
found something entertaining to read to them- 
selves ; because their father and mother were 
both engaged with their own employments 
this night, and could not attend to them. 
While they were reading, Lucy wanted her 
pencil, to draw for Harry the figure of 
Charles’s wain, and to make the map of the 
sky, with dots for each star, which Tommy 
Merton had proposed to make. But Lucy 
had not her pencil in her pocket ; she had left 
it in her mother’s dressing-room, on the chim- 
ney-piece, as well as she recollected ; and, 
when she went to look for the pencil, by the 
fire light, she saw the pieces of her broken 
bottle : she had a great mind to put them 
into the fire, for she knew that glass would 
melt, if it was put into the fire. She recollect- 
ed the print of the glass-blower, which she 
had seen in her Book of Trades , and she 
wished much to see glass melted. But recol- 
lecting also at this moment, that she had done 
mischief, by throwing the chestnuts into the 
fire, she determined not to throw this glass 
into the fire, without asking first, whether it 
would do any harm. So she carried the bro- 
ken glass carefully to the room where her 
father and mother were sitting, and she asked, 
if she might put it into the fire. 

Her father, pleased by her prudence, was 
so good, as to leave what he was doing, to 


EARLY LESSONS. 


213 



show Lucy what she wished to see. He put 
the bits of glass into the hottest part of the 
fire, and in a few minutes the glass became 
red-hot. Then he sent Harry to his work- 
shop for a pair of pincers. Harry knew the 
names, and shape, and places of all his father’s 
tools ; so he easily found the pincers, and he 
brought them. Lucy blew the fire, till it be- 
came of a white heat ; then her father took 
the thick part of the bottom of the glass out of 
the fire, It was now melted into a lump, he 
held it by one end with the hot tongs, and 


214 HARRY AND LUCY. 

desired Harry to take hold of the other end 
of the glass with the pincers, and to try to 
pull it out as far as he could. To Lucy’s 
surprise, the glass was now so soft and yield- 
ing, that Harry pulled it out as easily as he 
could have pulled out warm sealing-wax ; 
and he drew out the glass across the little 
table, at which his mother was sitting. — 
When drawn out, the glass looked like a 
thin shining thread — like what is called spun 
sugar — that is, sugar which has been heat- 
ed and melted, and drawn out in a similar 
(or like) manner. 

Harry and Lucy were entertained by seeing 
this, and they asked several questions about 
the manner, in which different glass things 
are made — they asked, for instance, how the 
panes of glass, which they saw in the win- 
dows are made ; and how looking-glasses are 
made ; and they wondered how the cut glass , 
or that which they saw in chandeliers, is 
made. But their father told them, that they 
could not possibly learn so many things at 
once. That perhaps, at some future time, he 
should have an opportunity of taking them 
to see a glasshouse, and of showing them 
how different kinds of glass are made. 

‘ To-morrow, father, will you take us V 
said Lucy ; 1 or next week V 

‘ No, neither to-morrow, my dear, nor next 
week — you must not see, nor attempt to 
learn a variety of things at once, else you will 
learn nothing well, but will only have a 


EARLY LESSONS. 


215 


jumble of things in your head. Now go to 
bed, my dear children.’ 

Then Harry put the pincers into their place, 
and threw the bits of glass into the fire ; and 
Lucy put by their books, their pencil and pa- 
per, and their map of the stars ; they were 
careful to put all these things into their places, 
because their mother had advised them not to 
make it troublesome or inconvenient to show 
them experiments, or to let them amuse them- 
selves in the same room with her and with 
their father. 

‘ Now we have put all our things into their 
places, mother,’ said Lucy ; and, after we 
have gone to bed, you will not have the trouble 
of doing that for us — Good night. You will 
like, that we should try experiments another 
time, I hope, mother, because we have not 
been troublesome.’ 


In the morning, Harry and Lucy went to 
their father’s room ; and Harry observed that 
they had lost a day by their father’s not be- 
ing at home. ‘ So now,’ added he, ‘ we must 
make up for it, and get on to the barometer.’ 

Lucy was, at this instant, mixing up the 
lather for her father, who was going to shave. 
She took a tobacco-pipe and blew a bubble 
into the air ; and when it burst, she said — 

1 Do, Harry, let me ask one more question 
about a bubble. Father, when a bubble bursts, 


216 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


does the air, which was withinside of it, stay 
where it was — or what becomes of it V 

‘ I believe that it does not stay exactly in 
the same place where it was,’ said her father ; 
‘ it spreads, and mixes with the rest of the air 
in the room. It is supposed, that, when there 
is less air in one place than in another, the 
air, which is collected in the place which 
contains the most of it, rushes into that which 
contains the least of it.’ 

‘ But what makes some places fuller of air 
than others V said Lucy. 

Her father said, that he did not know ; but 
he reminded Lucy, that air can be squeezed 
into a smaller space, than it usually occupies. 

‘ Why it occupies the whole world, does it 
not V said Harry. 

* No, brother, not the whole world, you 
know ; for stones, and trees, and animals, 
have places in the world ; but the air is all 
round us, and is in every place where there 
is nothing else.’ 

‘ That is true, or nearly true, Lucy,’ said 
her father. ‘ Harry, do you know any other 
name, by which people sometimes call the 
air, that is all round us V 

Harry said, that he did not recollect any 
other name for it ; but Lucy said that she 
believed the air round us is sometimes called 
the atmosphere ; and she said she had heard 
people speak of the pressure of the atmos- 
phere, but that she did not clearly understand 
what they meant. 


EARLY LESSONS. 


217 


{ Take this hand fire-screen, my dear/ said 
her father ; ‘ move it upwards and down- 

wards, and backwards and forwards. — What 
do you feel V 

1 1 feel, that I cannot move it quickly/ said 
Lucy. 

‘ What prevents you ? — Let Harry answer.’ 

1 I believe it is the wind/ said Harry. 

1 There is no wind in the room/ said Lucy. 

1 But when you move the screen backwards 
and forwards, I feel a wind/ said Harry. 

‘ It is the moving the screen, which puts the 
air in the room in motion. You will feel the 
air, or atmosphere, in any part of the room, if 
you move against it/ said his father. ‘ Take 
this little parasol, open it — half — do not fasten 
it up ; now run with it against the air, hold- 
ing the outside of the parasol from you.’ 

Harry did so, and found, that, as he ran, 
the parasol was closed by the air in the room, 
against which hp pressed. Then his father 
bid him stand on a chair, and let the parasol 
fall when it was shut ; and it fell quickly. 
He then opened it ; and when it was open,. 
Harry let it fall from the same height. It 
now fell very gently, and Harry perceived 
that it fell slowly; because, when it was 
open, it was resisted by the air underneath it 
in falling : he also observed, that the parasol, 
as it fell, made a tvind, as he said. 

His father then cut out of a card the shape 
of a wheel ; and he cut the card in several 
places, from the outside, or circumference , 
19 


218 


EARLY LESSONS. 


towards the centre, and he turned these hits 
of cards sloping, so as to make a little wind- 
mill : he put a large pin through the centre 
of it, and stuck this pin into the uncut end of 
a pencil, so as to make a handle. Then he 
blew against it ; and when he found that he 
could blow it round steadily, he gave it to 
Lucy, and, opening the window, desired her 
to hold it against the air at the open window, 
which, rushing in suddenly, turned the little 
windmill. Then he shut the window, and 
bid Lucy run with the windmill, as fast as 
she could, from one end of the room to the 
other, holding it in such a manner, that it 
might press against the air as she ran. She 
did so, and the windmill turned quickly ; 
then she and Harry perceived, that the forcing 
and pressing against the air made the wind- 
mill turn round in the same manner, as it had 
done when the wind blew against it. 

1 Harry,’ said his father, £ take these bel- 
lows, blow the fire with them. — What comes 
out of the nose , or nozzle of the bellows, as it 
is called]’ 

‘ Air or wind,’ said Harry. 

‘ What makes that wind V 
1 My blowing the bellows,’ said Harry. 
c What do you mean by blowing the bel- 
lows V 

1 Making the bellows blow,’ said Harry. 

‘ But how do you make the bellows blow V 
‘ By pulling up the top of the bellows, and 
shutting it down,’ said Harry. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


219 


* Very true/ said his father ; ‘ that opens 
the bellows, and makes room for air to go into 
them/ 

‘ The air,' said Harry, 1 goes in at the large 
hole in the bottom of the bellows.’ 

1 It does so,’ said his father, and some goes 
in at the pipe, or nose : but what hindeis the 
air from going out of the large hole in the 
bottom, where it went in V 

Harry said, ‘ There is a little flap, or door, 
that shuts down, when I blow the bellows.’ 

‘ That little door,’ said his father, ‘ or valve , 
as it is called, falls down by its own weight, 
when you blow the bellows, and it shuts that 
hole ; and the air, which is then in the bellows, 
goes out at the pipe into the fire. If 1 were 
to paste a piece of paper over the hole, in the 
bottom of the bellows, what would happen V 
1 The air,’ said Harry, ‘ would come into 
the bellows at the nose, when I lift up the 
top, and would go out again at the nose, when 
I shut the bellows.’ 

1 Then,’ asked his father, c what is the use 
of the hole, at the bottom of the valve V 
‘ I believe,’ answered Harry, ‘ it is to let 
the air in more quickly, and more readily.’ 

{ It is so,’ said his father : ‘ I will paste a 

piece of paper over the hole, in the bottom of 
the bellows, and, when it is dry, to-morrow, 
we will see what will happen. — Now let me 
finish dressing myself.’ 


220 


EARLY LESSONS. 


This day was very cold, and the fire in the 
breakfast room did not burn so well as usual. 
Harry’s father, who was a man able to do 
things with his own hands, went for some dry 
wood, which he sawed into pieces of a certain 
length, convenient for putting on the fire. 
Harry could saw very well, and he assisted 
his father ; Lucy stood by, and she asked 
him to let her try to saw. At first, Lucy 
could scarcely move the saw ; it seemed to 
stick in the wood, and she said she wondered 
how Harry could do it so easily. Harry 
showed her how to move the saw, and guided 
her hand at first ; and, after a little practice, 
with some little patience, she got on pretty 
well. After she had sawed the branch in 
two, her father split it down the middle, with 
a cleaver , or a little hatchet. He did not 
allow the children yet to meddle with the 
hatchet, lest they should cut themselves, as it 
requires some skill, care, and practice, to be 
able to manage a hatchet well. 

Harry and Lucy wished that they might 
saw wood every day for the fire. They said 
that it would be pleasant work ; and that it 
would warm them so well, and that it would 
be so useful ! — and they begged their father 
would lend them a saw, and give them wood 
to saw, and a block, or a horse , to saw upon. 

Their father answered : ‘ My dears, do you 
think that I have nothing to do, but to get you 
every thing you want ? T am afraid, that, if 
I were to take the trouble to provide you with 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


221 


these things, you would soon grow tired, and, 
perhaps, after sawing half a dozen bits of 
wood to-day and to-morrow, you would throw 
aside, and forget it ; as I have sometimes seen 
you throw aside, and forget, or break toys, 
which delighted you the first hour or day 
you possessed them.’ 

1 Break ! O, father ! my dear father !’ cried 
Lucy, 1 that was only the foolish toy that lady 
gave me, of which I could not make any use, 
nor any diversion in the least ; after I had once 
looked at it, there was an end of it. I could 
not move the wooden woman’s arms, nor do 
any thing with her, so I forgot her and left her 
on the floor, and the footman, by accident, put 
his foot upon her, when he was bringing in 
coals. But indeed, father, I never break nor 
forget my playthings, if I can play with them. 
— There’s my cart ! I have had it a year, a 
whole year : — And there’s my hoop — my bat- 
tledores and shuttlecock — my jack straws, my 
cup and ball — and my ivory alphabet.’ 

1 And there’s my cart, and my pump, and 
my bricks, and my top, and our dissected 
maps,’ cried Harry, 1 lam never tired of them, 
I know. — And there is no danger, father, that 
we should grow tired of a saw, if you will only 
be so good as to give us one ; because it will 
always give us something to do, and, as Lucy 
says, we grow tired only of things that we 
cannot make any use of. Pray, father, try us.’ 

Their father was so kind, as to grant their 
request ; he lent them a saw, and a horse , that 


222 


EARLY LESSONS. 


held the wood which they wanted to saw ; 
and he allowed them to work in a little room, 
on one side of the hall, where there was no 
furniture, but which had been used as a sort of 
lumber room. Here was kept a provision of 
wood for the winter, and there was plenty of 
branches, which the children could saw ; their 
father told them to saw these into pieces of 
about a foot or eighteen inches long ; and he 
said, that when they were sawed into these 
pieces, he would have them split. 

‘ Father !’ cried Harry, 1 let us do it all our- 
selves. I can split them, I assure you ; and 
we will take care not to cut ourselves, if you 
will lend us the little hatchet. Now, father, 
I will show you how well I can use the 
hatchet. Lucy may saw, and I will split.’ 

Their father however would not lend them 
the hatchet yet. He told them, that, if they 
sawed only small branches, such as he would 
give them, these need not be split asunder af- 
terwards. They sawed this morning wood 
enough for the evening’s fire. This evening 
they enjoyed the first fire made with wood of 
their own sawing — the first fire acquired by 
the labor of their own hands. 

‘ Did you ever see such a delightful blaze 
in your life, mother V said Lucy. 

1 Father,’ said Harry, £ this fire has warmed 
us twice — I mean, the sawing the wood warm- 
ed us, while we were at work ; and now it 
warms us again whilst it is burning. Mother, 
would you be so good to begin to read about 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


223 


the way of walking in dangerous places, now 
Lucy and I are sitting so comfortable at your 
feet, and the fire is blazing so finely V 

Their kind mother smiled, and she began 
to read as follows : — 

‘ In the neighborhood of Mount Pilate, there 
are people who give lessons in the art of 
walking, as regularly as lessons in dancing 
are given elsewhere. It is of the greatest im- 
portance, in certain dangerous places, to know 
which foot to make use of, or which hand to 
use, to preserve the balance of the body ; and 
when you are to step on sharp pointed rocks, 
you must be sure when you are to put down 
your heel or your toe first ; for want of in- 
struction, or for want of attending to these 
instructions, you might fall down a precipice, 
or be obliged to remain in a painful attitude, 
without daring td go forwards or backwards. 

‘ The shoes usually worn on these moun- 
tains are merely soles of thin light wood, tied 
on the foot with leather straps. There are 
iron horse-shoe nails, at the bottom of the 
soles, which stand out from the sole near half 
an inch. The mountain climber depends chief- 
ly on his stick, or pole. This pole must be 
light and pliable, and yet strong enough to 
bear the weight of a man, if it should happen,, 
as it sometimes does, that the pole is stretched: 
from one point of a rock to another, over the 
man’s head, while he clings, with both hands to 
it, as he passes beneath. The point of the pole 
js armed with iron at least two inches long, 


224 


EARLY LESSONS. 


c When a man wants to go down a steep 
descent, he does not set out with his face 
turned towards the bottom of the hill, because 
his whole body would be out of a perpendicu- 
lar line ’ 

1 Out of a perpendicular line !’ interrupted 
Lucy — 1 Mother, I am not clear about per- 
pendicular and horizontal — ’ 

‘ No !’ cried Harry, starting up ; ‘ then, my 
dear Lucy, I will make you clear about them 
in an instant, and for ever. Look,’ cried he, 
as he stood bolt upright, ‘ now I am perpen- 
dicular ; and now,’ continued he, throwing 
himself flat down on the carpet, ‘ now I am 
horizontal.’ 

‘ Thank you. — Now, mother, I shall un- 
derstand it.’ 

‘ The man’s wholp body would be out of a 
perpendicular line, so that, when he advanced 
three or four steps, as the hill becomes steeper, 
he would fall forward ; therefore, the man 
turns his side toward the bottom of the hill. 
In this position, he has one foot higher than 
the other ; if his left side is toward the bottom 
of the hill, his right foot must stand highest ; 
this must be observed, that you may under- 
stand the manner in which he then makes use 
of his stick. He holds it sloping with both his 
hands, one of its points resting against the 
ground ; and this point must be above the 
place where his highest foot stands. The right 
hand must be at the bottom of the stick, and 
4he left is at the middle of it. In this attitude, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


225 


the man leans on the stick, with which he 
rakes or scrapes away the ground, as he de- 
scends the hill. You may imagine with what 
swiftness he goes, and without the least dan- 
ger ; because his body, leaning on the stick, 
and approaching the ground, there is no dan- 
ger of falling. If, by chance, the man’s feet 
were to slip, the weight of his body leaning 
on the stick, it is necessary only to slide the 
left hand, which was in the middle, towards 
the bottom of the stick. Then it is impossi- 
ble, that the man should slip far ; because the 
stick, becoming almost perpendicular, and be- 
ing grasped near the bottom by both his 
hands, it catches against the least obstacle or 
hollow in the ground ; and this is sufficient to 
stop the man from sliding further downwards. 

‘ In places where there are a great number 
of loose pebbles, as the most skilful walker 
might slide down along with the loose pebbles, 
two or three walkers join, and agree to go to- 
gether ; they provide themselves with a long 
pole, which they all hold with one hand ; by 
these means, if one slips, the others hold him 
up. If all the party slip, which may chance 
to happen, he, who first quits his hold of the 
pole, is punished in whatever way the others 
think proper.’ 

1 My dear little Lucy,’ said her mother, put- 
ting down the book, and looking at Lucy, 
whose eyes were closed, and whose head was 
nodding — 

‘ My dear little girl, you are just asleep.’ 


226 


EARLY LESSONS. 


* Asleep ! — O no, mother, I am not asleep 
at all,’ cried Lucy, rousing herself. 

1 My dear, there is nothing shameful in be- 
ing sleepy, especially at the hour, when it is 
time for you to go to bed. Only do not let me 
read to you, when you are sleepy, because 
you cannot possibly attend to what is read j 
and you would get the habit of hearing my 
voice going on, without minding or under- 
standing what I say.’ 

£ O, mother ! I beg your pardon : I assure 
you 1 heard the last words you read — it was 
something about punished as they thought 
proper ; but I believe, mother, I was sleeping 
a little, too, for those words joined somehow 
with my dream, and I was dreaming about a 
saw, and sawing wood ; and I thought, that, 
as I was sawing, I slipped, and saw, and 
wood, and horse and all, slipped, and were 
sliding down a hill ; and just then I heard 
the words punished as they thought proper.’ 

c I know the reason she is so shockingly 
sleepy,’ cried Harry ; c it is because she work- 
ed so hard this morning, sawing ; and she is 
not so strong, you know, as I am.’ 

‘ There is nothing shocking ,’ said his father, 
laughing — ‘ there is nothing shocking in your 
sister’s being sleepy. Good night, Lucy, my 
dear, go to bed. — Good night, Harry.’ 

‘ No, father, not good night to me pray — I 
am not at all sleepy. I was thinking how I 
should like to live on that mountain, and slide 
down, with my pole in my hand, and learn 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


2 27 


to walk in dangerous places. But here there 
are no precipices, father ; and I cannot learn 
to walk, as they do on Mount Pilate.’ 

‘ This is a lamentable case indeed, Harry,’ 
said his father ; ‘ but, if you are so exceedingly 
anxious to learn to walk among precipices, I 
can tell you how a celebrated traveller says, 
that you may learn to do it, even in this flat 
country.’ 

1 Can you, father ? — O, pray do tell me.’ 

1 Shut your eyes, and imagine yourself 
among precipices, and walk on ; and M. de 
Saussure says, you may accustom yourself so 
to the idea of danger, that you would be much 
less terrified afterwards, if you were among 
real precipices, than another person would, 
who had never pursued this method.’ 

1 Is this true, father V 

{ 1 do not know, for I have never tried it 
But I should think, that you might practise 
walking over a narrow plank, that was raised 
a foot from the ground, and, if you learn to 
balance your body, and walk well upon that, 
if you were not afraid, you would be better 
able to walk steadily over any narrow bridge, 
where there was a precipice, or water beneath.’ 

1 So I could,’ said Harry; ‘ and I will try 
this experiment to-morrow. There is a long 
ladder, lying on the grass before the door, and 
I will walk on one side of the ladder, and 
Lucy on the other (for I suppose she will not 
be asleep to-morrow,) and we shall see who 


228 


EARLY LESSONS. 


slips first. Good night, mother — good night, 
father — and thank you.’ 


Lucy was quite rested and refreshed, when 
she wakened the next morning ; and she 
went into her father’s room, with her brother, 
at the usual hour. 

The paper; which had been pasted over the 
hole in the bellows, was now dry ; and Harry 
found, that, when he lifted up the top, the air 
came into the bellows at the nose ; but it did 
not come in so readily, as when the hole in 
the bottom was open. Harry’s father now 
put a peg into the nose of the bellows, and de- 
sired Harry to blow. Harry, with great diffi- 
culty, lifted up the top of the bellows slowly. 
He knew, that this difficulty was occasioned 
by the shutting up the opening at the valve 
of the bellows and at the nose ; and he asked 
his father, how any air could now get in. 

His father told him, that bellows cannot be 
so well made, as to hinder the air from forc- 
ing its way into them, at the place where the 
nose is fastened to the leather ; and that, be- 
sides this, the air gets in between the leather 
and the wood. 

‘ 1 see, father, the paper, which you pasted 
over the hole in the bellows, sinks inwards,’ 
said Harry, ‘ when you lift the top, and swells 
outwards, when you shut it down.’ 

1 It does so, my dear ; and, if the other parts 
of the bellows were air-tight (as it is called,) 


HARRY AND LUCY. 229 

the paper would be broken inwards, when I 
pull up the bellows.’ 

1 1 suppose, father, if it was not such strong 
paper, it would break now, when you lift it 
up suddenly.’ 

c It would, my dear : — I will wet the paper, 
which will make it softer, and move fragile.’ 

4 What is fragile , father V 

c That which can be easily broken, Harry.’ 

*• Now you see, that lifting the top quickly 
has burst the paper.’ 

4 Yes, father, I see that the air, endeavoring 
to rush in, has broken the paper ; the edges 
of it are all blown inwards.’ 

4 You perceive then, Harry, that the air, 
which is in the room and every where else, 
is always forcing itself into any empty space ; 
and that, if it cannot force its way immedi- 
ately, it drives any thing before it, which it 
can move, into that space.’ 

4 But I want to know,’ said Harry, 4 what 
makes the parts of air fly from each other V 

His father answered, that he did not know ; 

4 but Ido know,’ said he, 4 that, if heat be added 
to air, the parts of the air separate from each 
other to a greater distance, and with greater 
force, than when they are colder. 4 Now, Har- 
ry,’ continued he, 4 1 will close the valve, or 
door, of the bellows, and if we were to put the 
end of the bellows into this bowl of water, 
and, if we were to open the bellows, what 

would happen V 4 The water would go 

into the bellows,’ said Harry. 


230 


EARLY LESSONS. 


‘ Why should it go in V said his father ; ‘the 
parts of water, you know, do not fly from each 
other, in all directions, like those of air. If 
the bellows were lower than the bowl, the wa- 
ter might fall down into them ; but you see, 
that the bellows are higher than the water.’ 

‘ I do not think,’ said Harry, ‘ that the wa- 
ter would move itself into the bellows ; it is the 
air, on the outside of the water, which would 
rush into the bellows, if the water were not in 
the way ; the air drives the water before it 
into the empty part of the bellows.’ 

Harry’s father then took a tumbler in his 
hand, and filled it with water, and said — * If 
this tumbler, that is full of water, be emptied of 
the water, the air, that is in the room, will en- 
ter into the tumbler, whether it be held in any 
part of the room, upwards, or downwards, or 
sideways.’ He emptied the tumbler. ‘ Now,’ 
continued he, ‘ the air fills the space in the 
tumbler, which the water did fill ; and, which- 
ever way I hold the mouth of the glass, wheth- 
er upwards or downwards, to this side or to 
that, the air would go into it, and fill it.’ 

‘ So it is full of air, at this very moment, is 
it?’ said Lucy. ‘ But how can you be sure of 
that, father ! — because we cannot see the air.’ 

‘ No ; but we can feel it,’ said Harry. ‘ Wet 
your finger, and put it into the tumbler, and 
move it about quickly, and you will feel the 

air. 1 hope you are satisfied now,’ added 

he, laughing, as Lucy gravely put her finger 
into the tumbler, and said, seriously, 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


231 


1 Yes, I am satisfied now.’ 

1 That is right, Lucy/ said her father ; 
‘ take nothing for granted. Now observe what 
happens, when I put this tumbler, with its 
mouth downwards into the water, in this ba- 
sin. Does the water withinside of the tum- 
bler rise higher than the water on the outside 
of it, or does it not rise so high V 

‘ It does not rise quite so high,’ said Lucy. 
‘ What do you think is in that space, which 
you see above the water in the tumbler V 
Lucy, at first, hastily answered, that there 
was nothing ; but, recollecting herself, she said 
there was air ; and she just said the word air 
at the same moment when Harry said it. 

‘ And now suppose, that I could take away 
that air, which is in the glass, immediately 
over the water — What do you think would 
happen when that air was taken away V 
Lucy said, that she did not think that any 
thing would happen. 

Harry said, that he thought, that the water 
would rise in the glass, and fill the place, 



‘ Very right, Harry,’ said his father — 1 it 
would.’ 

1 O ! to be sure, so it would,’ said Lucy ; 
* but I did not say that, because I was think- 
ing you meant quite a different sort of thing, 
father — When you said what would happen ? 
I thought you meant to ask, if any accident 
would happen — if the glass would be broken 
suddenly, or something of that sort — O ! to be 


232 


EARLY LESSONS. 


sure, I know the water would rise in the 
glass.’ 

I And do you know, Lucy, why it would rise 
in the glass, or what would make it rise V 

Lucy could not tell ; all she could say was, 
that the water would rise, because there was 
room for it to rise ; but her brother said he be- 
lieved, that the air in the room, the air that was 
all over the water in this basin, in which the 
tumbler is - turned down, would press upon 
that water, and, by pressing it so, would force 
it up into the glass, if there was no air, or any 
thing else in the glass, to prevent the water 
from rising. 

His father, without telling Harry whether 
he was right or wrong, said, that he would 
try this for him. 

But just then their mother came in, and told 
their father, that breakfast had been ready 
some time ; and she was afraid, that, if he did 
not come soon, the muffins would be quite cold. 
Immediately, their father made a great deal of 
haste to get ready — Harry smiled, and said— 

‘ Ha ! ha ! — see what haste father makes, 
now he knows the muffins are come !-^he 
loves muffins, I see, as well as I do !’ 

I I dare say he loves muffins, and so do I,’ 
said Lucy ; ‘ but I know, Harry, it is not all foi 
the sake of the muffins, that he is making this 
wonderful haste — there’s another reason.’ 

1 What other reason V said Harry. 

‘ Because,’ whispered Lucy, ‘he loves moth- 
er, as well as muffins, { and he does not like 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


233 


to keep her waiting for breakfast alioays ; 
particularly when she is so good, you know, 
and is never angry.’ 

‘ I wonder whether you will be as good, 
when you grow up,’ said Harry, laughing — 
‘No, no ; I dare say, you will frown, this way, 
at your husband, and say, ‘ I wonder, Mr* 
Slow, you are never ready for breakfast 


‘ Now, father ! this morning,’ said Harry, ‘ I 
hope we are to see the experiment, which you 
were going to show us yesterday, just when 
mother and the muffins came. You know, 
father, that you asked us what would happen, 
if you could take away all the air, that is in 
this tumbler, between the top of the water 
and the glass, and Lucy said nothing would 
happen ; but she was wrong.’ 

‘ Only at first, brother ; I was only wrong at 
first, when I did not understand father’s ques- 
tion ; afterwards, you know, I was as right 
as you were, for I said the water would rise 
up higher in the glass, to be sure.’ 

‘ Yes, but then you did not know the rea- 
son why it would rise, and I did ; for when 
father asked me, I said, that the air in the 
room, the air, that is all over the water in this 
basin, in which the tumbler is turned down, 
would press upon that water, and force it up 
into the glass, if there was no air left in the 
glass, to hinder it.’ 


234 


EARLY LESSONS. 


1 Well, I know that,’ said Lucy, c as well as 

you.’ 

£ Yes, when I tell it you,’ cried Harry ; £ but I 
said it at first ; I was right from the beginning.’ 

1 Come, come, my dear children, no boasting, 
Harry — no disputing, Lucy ; and then you 
will both be right. What signifies, which of 
you said it first, if you both know it at last ? 
Now, Harry, turn your attention to this, and 
you, Lucy : I am going to try an experiment, 
that will prove to you whether the water will 
or will not rise in the glass, when some of the 
air above it is taken away.’ 

I But I can’t imagine, father,’ said Harry, 

‘ how you will contrive to get all that air out 
of the glass.’ 

I I cannot easily get all the air out of the 
glass — I cannot easily produce what is called 
a perfect vacuum , that is, a place where there 
is nothing, no air, nor any thing else ; but, 
though I cannot produce a vacuum in the top 
of this glass, by taking away all the air, I can 
easily take away some of it.’ 

‘ How, father?’ said Harry and Lucy at once 
— Their father answered, — £ You shall see?’ 

Then he went for a crooked, or bent tube of 

f lass — it was nearly in the shape of a capital 
I — He told Harry, that tubes of this sort are 
called syphons. He put one leg of this tube 
under the bottom of the tumbler, up through 
the water in the tumbler, into the place which 
appeared empty. 

He now bid Harry suck at the other end of 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


235 


the syphon — Harry did so ; and as fast as he 
sucked, the water rose in the tumbler ; but, 
when Harry took away his mouth, the water 
fell again. 

1 Why does this happen, Harry V 

‘ It happens, I believe, father, because, 
when I sucked, I took away the air, that was 
above the water in the tumbler ; and when I 
left off sucking, and took my mouth away, 
the air went again through the syphon into 
the tumbler above the water.’ 

‘ J ust so, Harry. Now the same thing would 
happen if I could take away the air, or lessen 
it, by any means, in the tumbler. If I could 
fill, or partly fill, the tumbler, with any thing 
that could be taken away from beneath the 
tumbler, while it stands in the water that is in 
the basin, then we should see the water rise 
in the tumbler, in the same manner as if the 

air were sucked out of it What shall we 

put into it that we can readily take out, with- 
out disturbing the tumbler V 

1 I don’t know,’ said Harry. 

1 Here,’ said his father, ‘ is a little spool, or 
roller, upon which silk is usually wound — 
Now I will put this into a little frame of tin, that 
will support it under the glass tumbler above 
the water. Upon this, I have wound some 
very broad tape so as to fill up a large space 
in the tumbler : I pull one end of the tape un- 
der the bottom of the tumbler, through the 
water that is in the saucer, so that I can un- 
wind the whole of the tape without disturbing 


536 


EARLY LESSONS. 


the tumbler. You see, that the water rises in 
the tumbler, as I unwind, and draw out the 
tape ; and, now that all is drawn out, the 
water has filled as much of the tumbler as 
had before been filled by the tape.’ 

‘ That is very pretty,’ said Harry ; £ I un- 
derstand it. When the tape was taken away, 
the room, that it filled would have been sup- 
plied with air, if air could have got into the 
tumbler; but, as it could not get in, it forced the 
water in the basin to go up into the tumbler.’ 

1 Now I will show you, my dear children, 
another method of trying this experiment. I 
make a little stand of halfpence under the 
tumbler, upon which I can put a piece of pa- 
per, without its being wet by the water in the 
basin — I set fire to the paper ; and whilst it 
is flaming, I put the tumbler quickly over the 
flame into the water — now you see the flame 
goes out and the water rises.’ 

1 Yes, father ; I suppose the flame burns 
out some of the air.’ 

1 It does, Harry, consume a little of the air 
in the tumbler ; but that is not the cause why 
so much water rises. You saw, that the flame 
took up a considerable quantity of room in 
the tumbler while it was burning ; but, the 
moment that the glass covered the flame it 
went out : and then the room, which the 
flame took up, was supplied by the water, 
rising from the saucer.’ 

1 Yes, father, the water was driven in by 
the air, that wanted to get into the tumbler,’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


237 


* Just so, Harry. Now, instead of putting a 
piece of lighted paper upon the little stand of 
halfpence, I put a piece of tow, dipped in tur- 
pentine upon it ; this, you see, makes a larger 
flame ; and, when this is extinguished, or put 
out, by placing the glass quickly over it, 
more water rises than in the former experi- 
ment : and, if I were to dip the tow into spi- 
rit of wine, and light it, it would answer the 
same purpose as tow dipped in turpentine.’ 

Their father warned the children against 
the danger of having more than a very small 
quantity of turpentine or spirit of wine brought 
near to the candle or to the fire, as it might 
easily catch fire, and set fire to their clothes, 
or to the furniture in the room. 1 All experi- 
ments in which fire is necessary,’ their father 
said, 1 children should never attempt to try, 
when they are in a room by themselves. — 
Some grown-up person should always be pres- 
ent, to prevent accidents, or to assist, if any 
accident should happen.’ 

The children both promised their father, 
that they would take care never to meddle 
with fire when he or their mother was not 
present, or to try any dangerous experiments. 

Harry then turned again to look at the 
tumbler, and repeated, that it was really very 
pretty, to see the water rise in the tumbler, 
pressed up by the air, that was over the wa- 
ter in the basin. Harry seemed still doubtful 
whether Lucy understood it. 

‘ You see, Lucy, the air presses this watei 


238 


EARLY LESSONS. 


first, and that presses it up into the tumbler.’ 
‘ Yes, I understand it perfectly/ said Lucy. 

‘ But, Harry,’ said his father, ‘you say that 
the air presses the water in the basin, up in 
the glass tumbler. What do you think would 
happen, if there was no water in the basin V 

‘ I believe the water would run out of the 
tumbler,’ said Lucy. 

‘ So it would,’ said her father, ‘ unless the 
bottom of the glass was ground quite smooth, 
and the basin also ground quite smooth.’ 

‘ And what would happen, if the basin and 
tumbler were ground quite smooth?’ saidHarry. 

‘ Then,’ replied his father, ‘ if you lifted up 
the tumbler, the basin would come up with it 
from the table, and seem to stick to it.’ 

‘ I should like very much to see that experi- 
ment,’ said Lucy ; ‘but we have no glass ves- 
sel nor basin ground smooth enough, 1 believe.’ 

‘ No ; but I can show you an experiment 
equally satisfactory, without them,’ said their 
father. 

‘ I fill this ale glass with water, and I cover 
it with a card, having first wetted the side of 
the card, which is next to the glass — I now 
put the palm of my hand on the card, and I 
turn the glass upside down on the card, which 
lies on my hand. You now see, that, though 
I have taken away my hand, the card sticks 
to the glass.’ 

‘ That is very pretty !’ cried Lucy. 

‘ But why does not the water fall out?’ said 
Harry. 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


239 



1 Because the card keeps it in,’ said Lucy. 

1 Why does it keeps it in V said Harry. 

‘ Because the card sticks to the glass,’ said 
Lucy. 

1 And what makes it stick to the glass V 
said Harry. 

Lucy did not answer immediately ; but her 
father asked Harry if he knew. 

Harry said it did not stick to the glass ; 
but it is held close against the glass by the 
pressure of the air that is in the room.’ 

1 That is quite right,’ said his father ; 1 by 
the pressure of the atmosphere. I am glad, 
Harry, that you know, that the air presses 
upwards, as well as downwards, and side- 
ways, and in all directions.’ 


240 


EARLY LESSONS. 


• Father,’ said Lucy, ‘ will you be so good, 
as to try that experiment again ?’ 

‘ Here you see the card remains close to 
the bottom of the glass,’ said their father. 

‘ But, father, the glass is not full,’ said Lucy. 

‘Yes, it is full,’ said Harry; ‘ though it is not 
quite full of water, it is full of water and air.’ 

‘ I left it so on purpose,’ said his father. 

‘ Now I will hold it to the fire, and you 
will see what will happen.’ 

In less than half a minute, they saw the 
card drop off, and the water fall on the hearth. 

‘ What is the cause of that?’ said his father. 

‘ The heat of the fire swells, or expands the 
air that is in the glass over the water, and for- 
ces it and the card downwards,’ said Harry. 

‘There was also a little steam formed,’ said 
Lucy. 

‘ There was,’ said her father. ‘ Now let us 
take care, and not be late at breakfast this 
morning. 

The children went to tell their mother of 
this last experiment, which pleased them par- 
ticularly. 

As soon as Harry and Lucy had finished 
their lessons this day, they went into what they 
now called ‘ their wood-room ,’ and sawed the 
provision of wood for the evening fire ; and, 
this day, Harry’s father lent him a little 
hatchet, for a few minutes, while he stood by, 
to see w.hether Harry would be able to use it, 
without hurting himself. Harry split half a 



dozen billets of wood, and begged, that, as he 
had done no mischief to himself or to any 
body, or any thing else, he might have the 
hatchet the next day, to split the wood in the 
same manner. But his father said — 

1 It is not likely that I should have time to 
stand by to-morrow, to see you split wood, 
though I happened to have leisure just no w ; 
and I cannot yet trust you with the hatchet, 
when you are alone. But, Lucy, what makes 
you look so blue ? You look as if you were 
very cold ; I thought you had warmed your- 
self with sawing.’ 

‘ No, father, because I have not been saw- 
ing. Harry had the saw — You know that two 

21 



242 


EARLY LESSONS. 


of us could not use the saw at the same time 7 
and so I had nothing to do but to give him 
the wood when he wanted it, or to hold it for 
him when he was sawing ; and that, you 
know, father, was very cold work. That is 
what makes me look so blue, I suppose/ 

* Well, to-morrow you shall saw, and I will 
hold the wood,’ said Harry, or we will take it 
by turns, that will be better; you shall begin, 
and saw one stick through, and I will hold 
the wood ; then I will saw, and you shall hold 
the wood ; that will be fair, will not it, father 7 
— Quite just— I must be just, to be sure.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said his father. ‘ In your code of 
laws, for the children on Mount Pilate, do not 
forget that — Nobody can govern well, that is 
not just.’ 

* That’s true,’ said Harry, looking very 
thoughtful — ‘ Now, which must I put first, 
honesty or justice ?’ 

‘ I think,’ said Lucy, and she paused. 

‘ What do you think, my dear V said her 
father. 

‘ I was going to say, that I thought, that 
honesty is only a sort of justice.’ 

‘You thought very rightly, my dear. It is so.’ 

‘And what are you thinking of, yourself, 
may I ask you, father ?’ said Lucy ; ‘ for you 
looked at the saw, as if you were thinking 
something more about our sawing.’ 

‘ I was so,’ answered her father — ‘ I was 
just thinking of a way, by which you could 
both saw together, with the same saw.’ 


Harry and lucy. 


243 


* How, father 7 

< Invent the way for yourself, my dear.’ 

* Invent , father 7 — can I invent V said Lucy. 

1 Yes, my dear ; I do not know of any thing 

that should hinder you. To invent, you 
know, means what does it mean, Lucy 7’ 

‘ It means — to invent means to think,’ 

said Lucy ; 1 but that is not all it means ; for 
I think, very often, without inventing any 
thing It means to contrive.’ 

‘ And what does to contrive mean 7’ 

1 It means to make a contrivance for doing 

any thing O, father, you are going to ask 

me what a contrivance means — stay, I will 
begin again — to invent, means to think of, 
and to find out a new way of doing some- 
thing, that you want to do.’ 

1 Well, now try, if you can, to invent some 
way of using this saw, so that you and your 
brother could work with it at the same time. 
Harry, think of it too ; and whichever thinks 
of any thing first, speak.’ 

‘ Father,’ said Harry, 1 1 recollect the day 
we went to the farmer, who lives on the hill, 
Farmer Snug-, as Lucy and I called him, our 
seeing two men sawing in a sort of pit.’ 

‘ I remember it.’ cried Lucy ; ‘ and father 

told me it was called a sawpit.’ 

* And one of the men stood on a board, that 
was % across the top of the pit, and the other 
man stood at the bottom of the pit, and they 
had a kind of saw, that was fixed upright, per- 
pendicularly, this way, in a sort of frame, and 


244 


EARLY LESSONS. 


one of the men pulled it up, and the other pull- 
ed it down, through the wood they were saw- 
ing. Now, if Lucy and I had such a place to 
saw in, or if I stood upon something very high, 
and we had another handle to this saw ’ 

‘ But, brother,’ interrupted Lucy, ‘ what 
would be the use to us, of pulling the saw up 
and down that way ; if we had but a handle 
at each end of this saw, why could not we saw 
with it, pulling it backwards and forwards, 
just as we stand now, without any thing more?’ 

‘ Very true, Lucy,’ said her father, ‘ now 
you have found out, or invented, a kind of 
saw, which was invented long ago by some 
one else, and which is at present in common 
use — it is called a cross-cut saw : I will get 
you a cross-cut saw. Now put on your hats ; 

I am going to walk, to see Farmer Snug , as 
you call him, about some business of my own, 
and you may both come with me.’ 

Harry and Lucy got themselves ready in a 
minute, and ran after their father, who never 
waited for them. When they came to the 
farmer’s house, while their father was talking 
to the farmer about his business, they ran to 
the sawpit, in hopes of seeing the men sawing; 
but no men were at work there. As they re- 
turned they heard the sound of men sawing 
in a shed near the house, and they looked into 
the shed, as they passed, and they found two 
men sawing the trunk of a tree across/ with 
something like the sort of saw, which Lucy 
had described to her father. They went back 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


245 



to Farmer Snug’s to tell this to their father : 
but he was busy talking, and they did not in- 
terrupt him. While he was engaged with 
the farmer, Harry and Lucy amused them- 
selves by looking at every thing in the parlor 
and kitchen of this cottage. There was one 
thing in the parlor, which they had never 
seen before — Over the chimney-piece hung a 
glass vial bottle, in which there was a sort 
of wooden cross, or reel, on which thread was 
wound. This cross was much wider than the 
mouth or neck of the bottle ; and Harry and 
Lucy wondered how it could ever have been 
got into the bottle. As they were examining 
and considering this, their father and the far- 
mer, having now finished their business, came 
up to them. 



246 


EARLY LESSONS. 


1 Ah ! you’ve got that there curious tiling, 
that reel in the bottle,’ said the farmer ; ‘ it 
has puzzled my wife, and many a wiser per- 
son ; now, master and miss, do you see, to find 
out how that reel, thread and all, was got, or, 
as I say, conjured into the bottle. And I 
don’t doubt, but I might ha’ puzzled myself 
over it a long time, as well as another, if I 
had not just been told how it was done.’ 

1 O, how I wish I had been by !’ cried Harry. 

‘ And I too !’ said Lucy — c Pray how was 
it done, sir?’ 

1 Why, master, — Why, miss, you see, just 

this way, very ready The glass was, as it 

were — before it come to be a bottle like at all 
— was taken, and just blown over it, from a 
man’s mouth with fire and a long pipe — so 
I was told.’ 

Harry and Lucy stood looking up in the 
man’s face, endeavoring to understand what 
he said ; but, as Farmer Snug had not the art 
of explaining clearly, it was not easy to com- 
prehend his descriptions. 

‘ Then I will tell you what, master,’ said 
the farmer, growing impatient at finding that 
he could not explain himself ; ‘ it is an impos- 
sibility to make a body comprehend it rightly, 
except they were to see it done, and the man 
who did it is in our market down here hard 
by — He is a travelling kind of a strange man, 
who does not speak English right at all, not 
being an Englishman born, poor man ! — no 
fault of his ! so, if you think well of it, sir, I 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


2 47 


will bid him, when I go betimes to market, 
call at your house to-morrow, — he is going 
about the country, to people’s houses — he 
blows glass, and mends weather glasses, and 
sells ’mometers and the like.’ 

‘ Weather glasses ! — barometers !’ said 
Harry — O, pray, father, do let him come !’ 

‘ Thermometers — he sells thermometers 
too !’ cried Lucy, ‘O pray, father, let him come!* 

Their father smiled, and said, that he 
should be obliged to Farmer Snug, if he 
would desire this man to call in the morning, 
at half past eight o’clock, — if he could. The 
family usually breakfasted at nine. 

So much for the pleasures of this morning. 
This evening, Harry and Lucy’s father and 
mother were reading to themselves ; and the 
children entertained themselves with putting 
in some more stars into their map of the sky : 
and they looked at the great celestial globe, 
which their mother had uncovered for them, 
and they learned the names of the signs of the 
Zodiac, and the months to which they be- 
long. Lucy showed these to Harry, and said, 

‘ Mother does not know them all herself j 
let us get them by heart and surprise her.’ 

Accordingly they learnt them, with some 
little difficulty. 

After they had learnt these, Harry and 
Lucy refreshed themselves, by playing a 
game at jack straws , or, as some call them, 
spillikens. Lucy had taken off* almost all the 
straws, without shaking one, and, according 


248 


EARLY LESSONS. 


to the rules of the game, would, consequently, 
have been victorious ; but, unluckily, a sudden 
push backward of her father’s chair shook 
her elbow, shook her hand, shook jack-straw , 
just as she was lifting him up, and he fell ! 

Harry, clapping his hands, exclaimed — 

£ There ! — you shook ! — you shook ! — 
you’ve lost.’ 

Lucy looked at her brother, and smiled. 

‘ She has lost the game,’ said her mother ; 
£ but she has won a kiss from me, for her 
good humor.’ 

Lucy, indeed, bore the loss of her game 
very good humoredly : and, when she went 
to wish her father and mother good night, 
they both kissed her and smiled upon her. 

{ The barometer-man is to come to-day, fa- 
ther, at half after eight, and it is half after sev- 
en now, father — Will you get up?’ said Harry. 

£ The man who can show us how the reel 
was put into the bottle,’ added Lucy — £ Will 
you not get up, father V 

Their father rose and dressed himself ; and, 
as he was dressed by eight o’clock, they had 
half an hour to spare, before the time when 
this much expected man was appointed to come. 

£ Why should we waste this half hour, Har- 
ry T said his father ; £ let us go on with what 
we were talking of yesterday morning. Do you 
recollect the experiments we tried yesterday V 

1 Certainly, father,’ said Harry ; £ you mean 
the experiments you showed us, with the 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


249 


burning tow and the turpentine, to make an 
empty space — a vacuum , I remember, you 
called it — in the tumbler, that we might see 
whether the water would rise and fill the 
place, which the air had filled — Yes, father, 
I remember all this perfectly.’ 

1 And I remember the experiment you tried 
with the roll of tape, father, which you put 
under the glass — When you unrolled the tape 
and pulled it gently from under the tumbler, 
the water went up, and took the place of the 
tape that was unrolled.’ 

‘ But, father !’ cried Harry, 1 1 have thought 
of something ! — I want to ask you a ques- 
tion, father.’ 

1 Ask it, then, my dear ; but you need not 
begin, by telling me that you want to ask a 
question.’ 

‘ What I want to say, father, is this ’ 

1 Think first, my boy, and, when you clear- 
ly know what you mean to say, speak ; and 
begin without that foolish preface of what 1 
want to say is this? 

1 What I want,’ Harry began from habit, 
but stopped himself and began again — 

< Would the water run up into a very high 
vessel, father, as well as it ran into the tum- 
bler, if you suppose that some of the air, in 
the high vessel, were taken out of it V 

‘Yes,’ answered his father : ‘ If the vessel 
,were as high as the room, in which we are, 
the water would remain in it, if it were quite 
emptied of air.’ 


250 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Harry asked, if it would stay in the vessel, 
were it as high as the house. 

‘ No. it would not,’ answered his father ; 
* because the pressure of the atmosphere is not 
sufficient to hold up the weight of such a col- 
umn of water, as could be contained in a pipe 
forty feet high ; though it is sufficient to sup- 
port or sustain , or hold up, the water that could 
be contained in a pipe thirty-four feet high. 
Harry said he did not understand this. 

‘ I am not surprised at that,’ said his father ; 
‘ for you are not used to the words pressure 
of the atmosphere , or column of water , and to 
other words which I make use of. But,’ con- 
tinued his father, • if we had a pipe forty feet 
long, with cocks such as are in tea-urns, fitted 
well into each end of it, and if the pipe were 
placed upright against a wall, with the bottom 
of it in a tub of water, and if the lower cock 
were shut, and if the upper cock were opened, 
the pipe might, by means of a tundish,or tun- 
nel, be filled with water. Now, Harry, if the 
lower cock were open, what would happen V 
‘ The water would run out at the bottom,’ 
answered Harry, ‘and would overflow the tub,’ 

‘ True,’ said his father. 

‘ But now suppose the pipe were filled again 
with water ; and if the cock at the top were 
shut and the cock at the bottom opened, under 
water, would the water in the pipe run out V 
‘No, it would not,’ said Harry ; ‘ the pres- 
sure of the atmosphere, at the bottom of the 
pipe, would prevent it from falling out,’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


251 


k That would be the case.’ said his father, 
‘ if the pipe was only thirty-three or thirty- 
four feet high ; but this pipe is forty feet high, 
so that the water in six feet of the top of the 
pipe would run out ; and, if this were let to 
run out very gently, the water in the remain- 
ing thirty-three or thirty-four feet would con- 
tinue supported by the pressure of the 
atmosphere on the water in the tub.’ 

1 Father,’ said Lucy, 1 there is a tub of wa- 
ter in the area under the window in my room ; 
and this would be a fine way of raising wa- 
ter up into my room, without the trouble of 
carrying it up stairs.’ 

1 My dear, that is an ingenious thought,’ said 
her father ; ‘but you are mistaken — I will not 
attempt at present to tell you exactly how * 

£ Here is the barometer man, father !’ in- 
terrupted Lucy — ‘ I saw an odd little man, 
with a box under .his arm, go by the window. 
Hark ! There he is, knocking at the door.’ 

The man was shown into a room, which 
was called the workshop. He was a little, 
thin man, with a very dark complexion, large 
black eyes, and, as the children observed, had 
something ingenious and good-natured in his 
countenance, though he was ugly. Though 
he could not speak English well, he made 
them understand him, by the assistance of 
signs. He began to open his box, and to produce 
some of his things ; but Harry’s father asked 
him to rest himself after his walk, and ordered 
that he should have breakfast brought to him. 


252 


EARLY LESSONS. 


Harry and Lucy despatched their breakfast 
with great expedition ; they thought that 
their father and mother were unusually slow 
in eating theirs, and that their father drank 
an uncommon number of dishes of tea ; but 
at last he said — ‘ No more, thank you, my 
dear’ — and putting aside the newspaper he 
rose, and said — 

1 Now, children, now for the barometer - 
man , as you call him.’ 

‘ Mother ! — mother ! — pray come with us !’ 
said the children ; they took her by the 
hand, and they all went together. 

1 Now, mother, you shall see what Farmer 
Snug described to us yesterday,’ said Lucy. 

1 No — what he could not describe to us yes- 
terday, you mean,’ said Harry — ‘ How a reel 
or a kind of wooden cross, mother, is put into 
a bottle, or how the bottle is made or blown 
over the reel — I do not understand it quite, 
yet.’ 

‘ So I perceive, my dear,’ said his mother, 
smiling ; £ for I have seen the whole process 
accomplished with a piece of wire.’ 

1 But this man will show it to us, mother,’ 
said Lucy. ‘ And I generally understand 
what I see, though I often do not understand 
what I hear.' 

Alas ! to Harry’s and Lucy’s great disap- 
pointment, this man, when they had, with 
some difficulty, made him understand what 
they wanted, told them, that he could not 


HARRY AND LUCtf. 253 

blow a bottle over a reel, such as they had 
seen at the farmer’s. 

This was a sad disappointment ! — and, 
what Harry thought still worse, the man had 
sold all his barometers. However, he had 
some little thermometers, and Lucy’s mother 
bought one for her, and gave it to her. Lucy 
colored all over her face, and her eyes sparkled 
with pleasure, when her mother put it into her 
hand, and Harry was almost as glad as she 
was. 

‘ Is it really for me ! — for my own, mother ! 
— I will take care and not break it. Harry, 
we can hang it up in our wood-room, and see 
every day how cold, or how hot the room is, 
before mid after we begin to work — and we 
can try such a number of nice experiments.’ 

1 Pray, sir,’ said Lucy to the man, ‘ how 
do you make these thermometers V 

The man said he would show her, and he 
took out of his box some long tubes of glass, 
and a long brass pipe, and a lamp. It was a 
lamp with which he could melt glass. When 
he had lit his lamp, it made a large flame, 
which he blew with a brass pipe, that he held 
in his mouth. Her father told her, that this 
pipe was called a blow-pipe. With it the 
man blew the flame of the lamp, and directed 
it to one of the glass tubes, which he held in 
his other hand. In a little time, the heat be- 
gan to melt the glass, and it melted into a 
round ball ; this he heated again in the flame 
of the lamp, and, when the glass was soft and 


254 


EARLY LESSONS. 



melting, he closed that end of the pipe, and 
it looked like a lump of melted glass ; then he 
blew air with his mouth in through the other 
end of the glass pipe, till the air blown with- 
inside of the pipe reached the end, which was 
melting ; and, the air being strongly blown 
against it, it swelled out into a bubble of 
melted glass, and thus made the bulb of a 
thermometer-tube. He left it to cool very 
slowly, and when it was cool, it became hard 
and was a perfect thermometer-tube. 

Harry’s father had some syphons and bent 
tubes of different shapes made for him. Harry 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


255 


was very glad of this ; for he thought he could 
try many different experiments with these. 

The thermometer-man was now paid and 
dismissed. 

As soon as he was gone, Harry and Lucy 
went to their usual occupations ; for they 
never missed any day their regular lessons. 
Then came sawing wood — then walking out 
Happy children ! always doing some- 
thing useful or agreeable. 

This evening, when they were sitting round 
the fire after dinner, and after his father had 
finished reading the newspaper, when he was 
not busy, Harry asked him what glass was 
made of. ‘ I thought you had known that, 
long ago, Harry,’ said his father — Surely I 
have told you, have not I V 

‘ Yes, father, I believe — I dare say you 
have ; but I always forget ; because I never 
was very curious, or much interested about it 
till now ; but now, when we have been seeing, 
and thinking, and talking so much about glass, 
I think I shall remember what it is made of, if 
you will be so good as to tell me once more.’ 

His father desired Harry to bring him some 
sand, which was lying in a paper in his 
study — Harry did so. Then his father said 
to his mother — 

‘ I wish I had some alkali, to show the 
children — some barilla ashes — Have you any 
in the house V 

1 No.’ 

There was no barilla ashes ; but she recol- 


256 


EARLY LESSONS. 


lected that a heap of fern and bean stalks 
had been lately burned near the house, and 
the ashes of these were to be easily had. 

Some of these ashes were brought upon a 
plate; and Harry’s father placed the ashes 
and the sand before him, and said — 

1 These, when burnt together, would make 
glass.’ 

‘ I shall never forget it,’ said Harry — ‘Now 
I have seen the real things, of which glass is 
made, I shall never forget them.’ 

■ That is what I say too,’ cried Lucy : — 
‘ Seeing things, and seeing them just at the 
very time I am curious about them, makes 
me remember easily, and exceedingly well.’ 

- Taste these ashes,’ said their father — ‘ this 
pot- ash, as it is called ; wet your finger, take 
up a little of it, and put it into your mouth.’ 

Harry and Lucy did so ; but they said the 
ashes had not an agreeable taste. Their father 
said, that he did not expect that they should 
think it agreeable ; but that he had desired 
them to taste the ashes, that they might know 
the taste of what is called alkali — what is 
called an alkaline taste. 

£ I shall not forget that , either,’ said Lucy. 

‘ How wonderful it is,’ continued she — look- 
ing first at the sand and ashes, and then at a 
glass, which she held in her hand — ‘ how won- 
derful it is, that sucli a beautiful, clean, clear, 
transparent thing as glass, could be made from 
such different looking things, as sand and 
ashes !’ 


HARRY AND LUCY. . 


257 


* And I wonder,’ said Harry, c how people 
could ever think or invent, that glass could 
be made of these things.’ 

1 Some say that glass was invented, or 
rather discovered, by a curious accident,’ said 
his father. 

1 Pray, father, tell us the accident.’ 

* Some sailors, or some merchants, who 
were going on a voyage, were driven by con- 
trary winds, out of their course (or way.) 
They were driven close to land, and they were 
obliged to go on shore — the shore was sandy 
and there grew near the place where these 
men landed a great deal of sea-weed. The 
men wanted to boil some food in an iron pot, 
which they had brought on shore with them; 
they made a fire on the sands with sea- weed ; 
and they observed, that the ashes of this sea- 
weed, mixed with the sand and burnt by the 
fire, had a glassy appearance. It looked like 
a kind of greenish glass. It is said, that, from 
this observation, they formed the first idea of 
making glass by burning ashes of sea- weed 
(called kelp) and sand together.’ 

‘ How lucky it was, that they made this 
fire on the sand with sea-weed !’ said Harry, 

‘ How wise these people were, to observe 
what happened when they did so {’ said 
Harry’s father. 

Next morning, when Harry and Lucy went 
into their father’s room, Harry began with 
his usual speech — • 


22 


258 


EARLY LESSONS. 


‘ Now for the barometer, father ! — and, 
added he, ‘ we must make haste, for we are 
to go to-morrow to my uncle’s, and I must 
understand it quite, before I see him again — 
we must make haste, father.’ 

‘ Let us go on quietly from where we left 
off yesterday,’ said his father. 

{ ‘ Yes, about the long pipe,’ said Harry. 

‘Pray, father,’ said Lucy, ‘when you were 
speaking of the water staying in the pipe* why 
did you say, that the water would be held up, 
or sustained, by the pressure of the atmos- 
phere, to thirty-three or thirty-four feet high in 
the tube 7 — Why should you say thirty-three 
or , thirty-four feet 7 — Would it not stay either 
at the one or at the other of these heights V 

‘ That is a very sensible question, Lucy,’ 
said her father. ‘ The reason is, that the 
pressure of the atmosphere is not always the 
same. In fine weather, it is generally greater 
than when it rains or snows ; and before it 
rains or snows, the pressure , or, as it is some- 
times called, the weight of the atmosphere, is 
less than at some other times. So that, if we 
had such a pipe, or tube, and if the upper 
part of it were transparent, so that we could 
see into the inside of it, we could tell, by the 
rising and falling of the water in the pipe, 
when the air, or atmosphere, was heavier or 
lighter, and then we might suppose , that the 
weather was going to change. I say suppose , 
because we should not be sure.’ 

( Then, father,’ said Harry, ‘ if the top of 


HARRY AND LUCY. 


259 


this pipe were of glass, it would be a barom- 
eter, would not it V 

‘ Yes, my dear, it would — Now you know 
what a barometer is.’ 

1 Why do not people make such barometers 
as this V said Harry. 

£ Because they would be very inconvenient,’ 
said his father ; 1 in the first place, it would 
be difficult to piece them so as that the rise 
and fall of the water could be easily seen, be- 
cause you must go up to the top of the house 
every time you wanted to consult the barom- 
eter ; in the next place, the frost would turn 
the water in the tube into ice ; and there 
would be an end of the barometer. But the 
shining liquor, that you saw in your uncle*s 
barometer, is not liable to freeze.’ 

‘ That shining liquor,’ said Harry, 1 is call- 
ed quicksilver or mercury.’ 

1 Yes,’ said his father. — c Here is some 
mercury ; feel the weight of it.’ 

‘ The quicksilver, that is in this glass, 
father,’ said Lucy, i seems as heavy as all the 
water that is in that decanter.’ 

1 Yes,’ said her father, 1 mercury is more 
than fourteen times heavier than water. 
Now, Harry, if the pipe, forty feet long, which 
we were speaking of before, was filled with 
quicksilver, do you think that the pressure of 
the atmosphere would hold up the quicksilver 
thirty-four feet high ?’ 

1 Certainly not, father,’ answered Harry ; 


260 


EARLY LESSENS. 


c because the quicksilver is so much heavier 
than water.’ 

‘ Would it hold it up one quarter the same 
height V said his father. 

‘ No, it would not,’ answered Harry ; 1 be- 
cause it is easy to perceive that the quicksilver 
is more than four times heavier than water.’ 

- 1 Very true, Harry ; it has been found by 
experiment, that the pressure of the atmos- 
phere will sustain a column of mercury about 
twenty-nine inches high ; sometimes, it will 
sustain only a column of twenty-seven inches ; 
and sometimes, a column of thirty, more or less, 
according to the pressure of the atmosphere.’ 

‘ How long is the tube of the barometer V 
said Harry. 

‘ It is generally about thirty-six inches long ; 
but, as the mercury never rises to the top of 
the tube, there is always an empty space be- 
tween the top of the mercury and the top of 
the glass, which allows the mercury to rise or 
fall as the pressure of the atmosphere is more 
or less. The glass tube of a barometer is 
about one fourteenth part as long as the 
leaden pipe, which you said would make a 
water barometer ; but the quicksilver is 
fourteen times as heavy as the water.’ 

c All this is rather difficult,’ said Lucy. 

1 So it must appear to you at first, my 
dear,’ said her father ; but, when you have 
seen it often and talked with your brother 
about it, you will understand it more clearly.’ 

« But at least,’ said Lucy, ‘ I know now 


IlARRY AND LUCY. 


261 


father, what is meant by the glass falling 
and rising. It does not mean that the glass 
falls or rises, but that the mercury rises 
or falls in the glass.’ 

1 Very true, my dear Lucy ; saying, that the 
glass rises or falls, is an inaccurate mode of 
speaking. Now, my dear boy, I think you 
will be able to understand your uncle’s barom- 
eter, when you see it to-morrow ; particularly 
if you will read, to-night, an excellent de- 
scription and explanation of the barometer, 
which you will find in this little book,’ said 
his father, putting £ Scientific Dialogues’ into 
his hands ; it was open at the word barometer . 

‘ O, thank you, father !’ said Harry. 

1 And, my dear Lucy,’ said her father, 
turning to Lucy, and showing her in a book, 
which he held in his hand, a print, — ‘ do you 
know what this is V 

I A thermometer, father — Fahrenheit’s 
thermometer — O, I remember what you told 
me about Fahrenheit’s thermometer.’ 

‘ I think you will be able, now, to under- 
stand this description of thermometers, my 
dear ; and you may read it whenever you 
please ;’ said her father. 

I I please to read it this instant, father,’ 
said Lucy. 

So Lucy sat down, and read, in the 1 Con- 
versations on Chymistry ,’ the description of 
the thermometer ; and Harry read the expla- 
nation of the baiometer, in 1 Scientific Dia- 
logues. ’ And when they had finished, they 


262 


EARLY LESSONS. 


changed books, and Harry read what she 
had been reading ; and Lucy read what Har- 
ry had been reading ; and they liked the books, 
because they understood what they had read. 

■ — ‘ I wonder what the rest of this book is 
about,’ said Harry, turning over the leaves : 

‘ here are many things I should like to know 
something about.’ 

‘ And i should like,’ said Lucy, 1 to read 
some more of these conversations between 
Emma, and Caroline, and Mrs. B — . There 
seems to be drawings here, and experiments 
too. Since father has shown us some exper- 
iments, I wish to see more.’ 

‘ But, my dear,’ said her father, ‘you are not 
able yet to understand that book. Look at 
,the beginning of it. Read the first sentence/ 

‘ Having note acquired some elementary 
notions of natural philosophy ’ 

1 What are elementary notions V said Lucy, 
stopping short. 

‘ I know,’ said Harry ; ‘ for I heard the 
writing-master the other day tell my father, 
that he had given Wilmot, the gardener’s son, 
some elementary notions of arithmetic, that 
is, first foundation notions, as it were.’ 

‘ Then I have no elementary notions of nat- 
ural philosophy — have I, father V said Lucy. 

‘ In the first place, do you know what natu- 
ral philosophy is, my dear ?’ said her father. 

Lucy hesitated ; and at last she said, she 
did not know clearly — she believed, it was 
something about nature. 


Harry and lucy. 


263 


Harry said, he believed it meant the knowl- 
edge of all natural things — things in nature ; 
such as the air, and the fire, and the Water, 
and the earth, and the trees, and all those 
things, which we see in the world, and 
which are not made by the hands of human 
creatures. 

Their father said, that this was partly what 
was meant. 

‘ Then,’ said Lucy, 1 1 have no elementary 
notions of natural philosophy. 

1 Yes, you have,’ said Harry — ‘ All we have 
been learning about the air, and the wind, 
and the pressure of the atmosphere, and all 
that father has been showing us, about water 
and quicksilver ; these are elementary notions 
of natural philosophy, are not they, father V 
said Harry. 

1 Yes ; but you have, as yet, learnt very 
little,’ said his father ; 1 you have a great 

deal more to learn, before you will be able to 
understand all that is in these ‘ Conversations 
on Chymistry,’ and in Scientific Dialogues.’ 

* Well, father,’ said Harry, smiling, ‘ that 
is what you used to say to me about the ba- 
rometer ; you used to say, a little while ago, 
that I must know a great deal more, before I 
could understand the barometer ; but now 
I have learnt all that , and now I do under- 
stand the barometer ; and in time, I shall — • 
we shall, I mean — know enough, I dare say, 
to read these books, and to understand them, 


/ 3- 9 7 \ ° 

(u <4- (a G 

264 EARLY LESSONS. 

just as well as we now understand the ba- 
rometer and thermometer.’ 

‘ Yes, and very soon too, I dare say ! — 
shall we not, father V cried Lucy. 

‘ All in good time ; we will make haste 
slowly, my dear children,’ answered their 
father. ‘ Now go get ready, as quickly as 
you please, to go with your mother and me 
to your uncle’s.’ 


END OF HARRY AND LUCY. 















